


I Promised

by Bookwormgal



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Afterlife, All Magic Comes With a Price, Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anthropomorphic Personifications, Conversations, Dancing, Day of the Dead, Death, Emotional Roller Coaster, F/M, Family, Family Dynamics, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Forgiveness, Gen, Guilt, Hugs, I See Dead People, Loss, Love, Marigolds, Memories, Mexico, Miguel Is Willing To Pay It, Music, Parent-Child Relationship, Promises, References to Aztec Religion & Lore, Regret, Rescue Missions, Singing, Skeletons, Souls, Spoilers, Worldbuilding, being forgotten
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-02-14 00:49:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12996204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookwormgal/pseuds/Bookwormgal
Summary: Miguel tried to remind Mamá Coco. He tried to remind her of who she had forgotten. And in the end, a lullaby from her childhood managed to spark her memory. She remembered her papá and even shared stories with the rest of her family, ensuring that they would remember him as well.But it was too late. She had forgotten for a moment too long. And Héctor was already gone.But Miguel promised that he would see Coco. He promised.





	1. Too Late

**Author's Note:**

> So this is pretty unintentional. I wrote a one-shot for "Coco" and assumed it would be enough to satisfy my brain for a while. I was wrong. I was very wrong.  
> This is more of a "what if" scenario. We know that Coco was forgetting at the end, that for a moment it seemed as if she had truly forgotten Héctor and his fate was sealed. But Miguel managed to spark her memory and it was enough to save him.
> 
> But what if it was already too late. What if she'd forgotten him just long enough?
> 
> So this story is inspired by the fanfiction "Unforgettable" by Upperstories on Archive of Our Own, visuals and tidbits from "The Book of Life," the Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, some mild influence from Terry Pratchett's "Discworld" series for a character, and research about Mexican culture (though with some artistic license and hopefully no disrespect). All these things ended up being swirled together until I ended up with something that I hope that you might like.

Héctor knew that the end had been approaching for quite some time. It was part of the reason that he'd been growing more and more desperate with his attempts to cross the marigold bridge. The evidence was quite clear. He could see it in how his bones had faded to a dull shade of yellow. He could see it in how easily his body chipped, cracked, and broke in ways that would either heal slowly or not at all. And he could feel it in the chill that slowly started settling into his bones. The signs of gradually being forgotten were noticeable long before the glowing and shimmering began.

He just never expected it to happen while surrounded by his family, both those he recognized and those he never had the chance to meet before that night. And he certainly didn't expect it to happen backstage of the yearly Sunrise Spectacular, near the ledge of the coliseum on one of the tallest buildings in the city. Apparently the Final Death had a flair for the dramatic.

"No, no, no, I can't leave you," pleaded Miguel, either ignoring or no longer caring that the sky was changing colors as dawn swiftly approached. "I promised I'd put your picture up. I promised you'd see Coco."

Another brief flare of light engulfed his body and made Héctor gasp. At least he was already on the ground, so he didn't collapse on the hard stone again. But it was certainly getting worse.

"We're both out of time, _míjo_."

"No. _No!_ She can't forget you," said Miguel with tears in his eyes.

She could and she was. Honestly, it was a miracle she had remembered as long as she had. His little girl was only three years old when he left. She was so small and beautiful. Even if she could no longer remember him after over ninety years apart, he could never forget how much he loved his Coco.

He should have never left her. He should have been there every single day of her life, making sure that she would always remember the most important thing in the world.

"I just wanted her to know that I loved her."

Reaching for a _cempazúchitl_ petal took more of his energy than Héctor could have imagined, but he managed to wrap his bony fingers around it.

"Héctor," sobbed Miguel, conflicted etched on his fading features.

The boy wanted to stay and help somehow, but he also didn't want to die. Because that was what would happen to his great-great-grandson if he didn't leave immediately. He had to go home or he would die.

"You have our blessing, Miguel," Héctor said tiredly.

"No conditions," added Imelda.

The _cempazúchitl_ petal glowed in his hand. But when he tried to raise it, his limb was too shaky and weak. Imelda, kneeling beside her husband, took his hand in hers.

"No, Papá Héctor," Miguel begged. " _Please!_ "

Their clasped hands brought the glowing petal towards the boy, even as he leaned back from it slightly. He honestly didn't know how to give up.

Giving his clever and talented descendant a weak smile, Héctor said, "Go home…"

"I promise," Miguel said stubbornly even as the petal was pressed towards him. "I _won't_ let Coco forget—"

His words were cut off as they touched the _cempazúchitl_ petal to the protesting boy's chest, Miguel vanishing in a swirl of orange. The marigold petals settled to the stone as sunlight officially broke the horizon. He barely escaped in time, but Miguel was safe and home.

Héctor might have failed his family and messed up countless times, but at least he did one thing right. He got his great-great-grandson home. History wouldn't repeat for the boy. He wouldn't end up like Héctor, alone and forgotten.

Imelda let go of his hand and it instantly dropped down to his side. He didn't have the energy to hold it up. Nor could he keep his head up any longer. His hat slipped off as his strength crumbled and he slumped backwards. Héctor nearly collapsed to the ground completely like a puppet with no strings, but she caught him and pulled him close.

"Easy," said Imelda, settling him so that his back leaned against her and his head was tucked against her shoulder. "He's gone home. You did good."

"For once," he said quietly.

He felt her stiffen behind him at his words, one arm wrapping around his chest protectively. It was so easy for some people to forget in the face of her temper and indominable will that Imelda could also be soft and kind in turn, the fire in her both wild and soothing. But not him. He would never forget anything to do with his wife or child. Those memories had been all he could hold onto for decades.

But before she could say anything, another flare of golden-orange light overtook his body. The first few time it happened were intense enough to knock him down like a punch to the gut would have back when he actually _had_ guts. But the pain had dulled by now. His bones were too numb, cold, and tired for the spasms to truly hurt anymore. But they still shook his weakening body, leaving him gasping for breath and slumping limply as the shimmering light eventually faded.

Gentle fingers reached up and brushed the hair from his face as he struggled to recover. He was so tired, but he had to admit the gesture was comforting. His last hour of existence had let him spend more time with her than he had experienced in decades.

An hour with the woman he loved, even as she struggled with ancient fury and new knowledge, was more than he expected.

"You had better hold on, _idiota_ ," said Imelda, the bite in her words not enough to truly sting. "Don't you dare think about leaving me again."

Even if he couldn't turn his head far enough to see her, Héctor gave a sad smile at her words. The rest of the family saw it though. They looked away quickly from the scene, unable to watch what was happening as the sun kept creeping over the horizon. He could recognize it in their expressions. They didn't want to see the inevitable conclusion.

"I don't… want to, _mi amor_ ," he whispered. "I… never want… to leave… leave you again... But I… I don't think it's… up to me."

She tightened her grip, hugging him close. As if she could keep him in place by the power of her stubbornness and fire. Héctor had long suspected Imelda could stop the sun's journey across the sky if she truly wanted it and put her mind to the task. There was very little that could stand in her way if she made a decision. But neither he nor Imelda could stop what was happening.

But Héctor was thankful for her hold. He had missed his Imelda's embrace. He wished he could return it. He wanted to hold her almost as much as Héctor wanted to hug Coco again. But he could barely keep his eyes open, let alone anything else.

"Miguel said he would wouldn't let Coco forget. There is still time," said Imelda. Was her voice, normally so forceful and certain, wavering as she spoke? "He can still remind her. Then I can spend the next few decades telling you how angry I still am with you."

He wanted to hold onto that hope. For decades, hope was all Héctor had. Hope to cross the bridge. Hope to see his daughter again. But holding onto fleeting and fading hope was hard. Héctor didn't have the energy to try anymore.

His eyes slid closed. Imelda's arms were the only things supporting him. He was so tired. Whatever memories that Coco once held were nearly gone, meaning he was slipping away quickly.

Was this how Chicharrón felt right near the end? Was this how all those poor souls he saw succumb to the Final Death felt? Cold, numb, tired, and just so…

"I'm sorry, _mi amada_ ," he said, his voice unable to rise about a weak whisper. "For everything… I never… never deserved you."

" _Idiota_ ," said Imelda. There was definitely a choked wavering to the word, but no sharpness. " _El burro sabe más que tú_. You will stop sounding so dumb this instant. You are talking like my papá and I stopped listening to that man when I was sixteen. The only one who decides who I deserve is myself." She brushed back his hair again. "And I should have listened to you sooner. Even if I was angry with you, I should have let you speak. I shouldn't have let my heartache and pain turn to so much spite."

He never wanted to hurt her. He always planned to come home. He told Imelda and Coco that it was only for a little while, that he and Ernesto had to take this chance. The man was his best friend and had been like an older brother in many ways; Héctor _had_ to go with him. He wanted to share his music. But no matter what he intended, Héctor left them and never came back. He hurt them both so much.

And now he would never be able to make amends. Not that he deserved forgiveness; forgiveness that would never come from them.

Even with his eyes closed, he could tell when his bones flared with light again. His body spasmed in Imelda's hold and left him panting when it died back down.

Struggling to get his breath back enough to speak, Héctor whispered, "She… won't… remember…"

"Don't say that. There is still time, my Héctor. You still have time," said Imelda, shaking slightly.

He wanted to smile at her. Actually, there were many things that he wanted. He wanted a glimpse of Miguel embracing both his family and music in ways that Héctor wished he could have. He wanted more time with his wife, to give her a final kiss and maybe see that familiar warmth in her eyes once more. He wanted to hold his daughter again.

He wanted to have his family back. His entire being seemed to ache and cry out for them.

But it just wasn't meant to be.

"I'm… afraid… _mi alma_ ," he said weakly, exhaustion pulling him down as a steadier glow overtook his bones, "I… don't…"

And no matter how much he wanted to stay with Imelda, no matter how desperately he wanted to see his Coco, Héctor felt something snap like a guitar string tightened too far.

* * *

Julio was incredibly thankful that though his sister directed the camera at the earlier confrontation, a useful decision that exposed Ernesto de la Cruz and his crimes to everyone, Rosita had since turned the camera away after Miguel's rescue. This wasn't a moment for the public. This was a family moment. Even if only Imelda and maybe her two brothers actually knew the fading family member.

Holding his hat in his hands, Julio kept glancing at his mother-in-law as she held the glowing skeleton desperately. He couldn't bring himself to watch too closely what was clearly becoming a private moment for the long-separated husband and wife, but he also couldn't look away for long. Trying to ignore and forget was what led to this tragedy in the first place.

He had to remember this moment so he could tell Coco someday, no matter how sad it might be. His wife deserved to know what happened to her father.

The matriarch of the family didn't seem to realize that she had an audience anymore, all her attention on the skeleton in her arms. Even after seeing Imelda pretending for decades that her husband never existed, Julio wasn't surprised by her reaction. Love was difficult to completely extinguish. Somewhere under all her anger and pain, those old feelings never died. They were just waiting.

She was a passionate woman, even in death. Burning rage. Fierce protectiveness. Unwavering determination. Julio had witnessed all of them. Imelda did nothing in moderation. In fact, there was only one reaction that he had never seen from her.

But when the glowing skeleton in her arms, the one that she hadn't completely forgiven and yet still cared about, dissolved into dust…

Julio ducked his head sadly as his mother-in-law wept from loss, her heart breaking over Héctor a second time.

* * *

She watched the falling soul, another lost and fading light among so many. Memories could hold them up like ropes forming a net, keeping them in the hearts and minds for countless generations. Memories could keep them close to their families and loved ones. This soul had been dangling by a single fraying thread for longer than most would manage. But she saw the moment that the final memory slipped away.

She also saw someone spark the lost memory once more, like someone throwing a line to a drowning man. The poor soul was remembered and those memories were quickly shared among his living family. It was a desperate and clever attempt at a rescue for someone ignored for so long.

But it wasn't enough. The memories fell short of reaching him as the lost soul slipped away. Too little, too late. He was already gone from the Land of the Dead, fading light and dust dissolving in the wind.

His soul had entered her realm.

She reached out, catching this falling soul as she did all who reached this place. Every single one was welcomed personally by her. They were her responsibility and they deserved her attention.

Not all souls came to her when they were forgotten. Only those that belonged nowhere else. Only those who needed the peace, the rest, and the comfort that any other existence would deny them. She took in the broken, the discarded, the tired, and the ones who needed to forget what came before. She guarded the forgotten outcasts.

She remembered and knew them because no one else would.

She held the poor shapeless soul gently, his previous despairing regret and desperate desire for those he loved already growing less intense. The little golden light dimmed as his memories grew fuzzy and indistinct, her realm already calming and easing his pain. She waited quietly, holding the lost soul close like a mother would an upset child. She waited until he slipped into the same peaceful and dreamless slumber as her other outcasts. It was the only comfort that she could give so many: forgetting their life and afterlife as they slept in her realm. Until they were ready for brighter and more joyful places, they would have calm and rest.

She smiled sadly at her newest arrival. He came so close. He and the boy tried so hard. But he came to her regardless.

She knew everything about him, just as she knew the others under her care. In fact, she was familiar with everyone who would or already had come to the end of their mortal life. Even those who would never come to her realm. But she'd always had a soft spot for the souls that could not find relief in life or death, those that deserved far more comfort than she could give them.

Yes, she knew this lost little soul. She knew his entire existence.

Héctor was orphaned early in his life, too young to remember his parents, but his natural affinity for music offered him opportunities. And his ambitious and mildly talented best friend, one viewed almost as an older brother, encouraged Héctor to follow those opportunities with him. People recognized his gift and hard work enough that the growing boy could earn a humble living by performing at different events in Santa Cecilia. Including when he was hired at fourteen to play at a quinceañera for a wild and passionate girl who started singing along to his music.

His heart belonged to her before the end of the night.

And though he had little to offer and his friend laughing declared that he had gone crazy, he wanted to let her know how he felt. She inspired the creation of a song that he used to express that love. In very little time, they were inseparable. Her father never approved of the idea of his daughter settling for a young musician with no family, even threatening to cut her out of his life. Her father warned that she would be left poor and heartbroken. But Imelda Rivera was never one to let others dictate her life.

Héctor and Imelda eventually married, finally giving the orphan a family in the form of a wife and two brother-in-laws who chose to stand by their sister rather than their bitter father. He adored his new family, their lives filled with laughter and song. He even adopted her family name. And just when he thought he couldn't be any happier, they had a daughter.

But that short happiness came to an end when he trusted the wrong person. A childhood friend who whispered in his ear, coaxing him to share his music with the world. Just for a little while, he promised. Just think of what we can do together with your music and my charisma, he said. Imagine others getting the chance to love your songs as much as your family and the people in our hometown, he urged.

So Héctor left, lured away by those sweet words and a dream to share his music with others. But he left with the intention to come back. And when Héctor tried to return home to his family, a strong and fast-acting poison ended twenty-one years of life.

The betrayal took everything from him: his life, his home, his family, his songs, and any chance to make things right. Because he left and never returned, heartbreak and fury spurred his wife to believe the worst and lash out. She disposed of all hints of the man and music, trying to forget about him and ensure that her family would do the same.

The man never gave up. He tried to see his daughter, year after year. When the rest of his family shunned him, his daughter gave him hope. Her memories kept him in existence and the idea of seeing his daughter again kept him from collapsing in despair. But it was not enough to preserve him forever.

The soul in her hands rested quietly. Héctor was like so many others, deserving something far better than what had befallen him. But there was also something unique about his circumstances. Several things, actually.

Even if his daughter forgot for a moment too long, he was remembered once more. Those memories were already being shared among the living. It would have been enough to keep him in the Land of the Dead for a long time if it happened just a little sooner.

And his great-great-grandson, the one who stirred up so much change and revealed the truth, managed to end up partially alive and partially dead for an entire night of _Día de Muertos_. That amount of time in the Land of the Dead left marks on the living. It changed the boy in small and subtle ways. And he bore the blessing of both Imelda and Héctor Rivera, his two relatives managing to send him home together.

Yes, the boy was indeed special. Not in ways that any human alive or dead would notice, but she wasn't human and never was. And though the curse that brought young Miguel Rivera so close to the grave was not enough to prevent his great-great-grandfather's fate, perhaps the lingering effects of his journey would make a difference.

She wanted to help all the souls who fell into her realm, but she could only do so much for them. Even as ancient, powerful, and endless as she might be, she could not go against the natural order completely. But for this one lost soul with these rather unique circumstances, perhaps just a little more could be done.

But there were still rules and limitation. For such a miracle, for there was no better word for what she was considering, there would have to be an exchange. There would be a price to pay and only one who could do it. And it would be up to him to do so.

But there would be time before anything could happen. _Día de Muertos_ was over for the year and it would be a while before all the chaos of that night truly died down. She would wait for now. She would watch over all her poor forgotten dead as they slept. Eventually she would see if this single broken and lost soul would find a better fate.


	2. Muerte

While his Mamá Coco had been on the family _ofrenda_ for a long time, though only from a torn photograph from her childhood, this was the first year that she officially belonged there. Miguel watched his abuelita properly position the picture frame among the various offerings, carefully balancing his baby sister. It broke everyone's hearts to lose her, but he knew that it wasn't like she was gone for good.

She would be remembered for a long time. They would see her again.

"Are you coming, _míjo_?" asked Elena, finally stepping away from the _ofrenda_.

Glancing over his shoulder as she headed for the doorway, Miguel said, "Maybe in a _momento_. I just want to stay here a little longer, Abuelita. Show her the rest of the family and maybe tell her more stories."

She chuckled slightly, shaking her head at her grandson in quiet affection as she left the room. Abuelita seemed pleased with how much he'd embraced their traditions and the importance of family in the past year. But she wasn't aware of what caused it. None of his family did.

At least not his living family.

Miguel shifted his baby sister in his arms, staring at the repaired photograph at the highest point of the _ofrenda_. His Mamá Imelda and his Mamá Coco as a little girl were both familiar sights, but the smiling face of the man holding the guitar hadn't been there before this year. Héctor Rivera had been ignored and essentially erased from their family history for decades. But that was changing.

After Miguel managed to spark Mamá Coco's memories with music, something denied by their family for generations, he managed to coax stories out of her about her father. And he would do the same thing every chance that he got, playing different songs to remind her and listening to every word she spoke. Miguel would then repeat those stories to anyone who would listen. Until the day that Mamá Coco passed away peacefully in her sleep, he did everything possible to pass on her memories of her father and ensure that he was remembered.

Because he had seen what would happen if they forgot Héctor. Miguel had been to the Land of the Dead and met his ancestors. He'd met his great-great-grandfather. And he saw him fading away, glowing and weakening as Mamá Coco forgot him. He saw it happening before they sent him home.

"But she remembered," he said quietly. "I reminded Mamá Coco."

His little sister turned her head at the name. Miguel gave her a reassuring smile before looking back up at the photograph. Héctor had to be all right. Everyone remembered him now. Miguel liked to imagine the musician greeting Mamá Coco when she passed away, finally giving his daughter the hug that he'd been waiting decades for. He liked to imagine all of them happy together in the Land of the Dead.

But part of him kept seeing Héctor, crumbled on the ground weakly and his bones flickering with light. Part of him couldn't help wondering…

"YOU WONDER IF YOU WERE IN TIME?" said a voice behind him as the church bells rang in the distance.

Miguel yelped in surprise as he spun around, bumping into the _ofrenda_ hard enough to rattle the picture frames. And then his eyes widened as he saw the source of the strange voice.

Once, being face-to-face with a skeleton would have been shocking just by itself. But not now. Even a year later, skeletons weren't that strange to Miguel anymore. It was just surprising to see one there and now. No, just a skeleton wasn't enough to truly affect him. It was the details.

She was taller than most people and cut an intimidating figure, rather like Mamá Imelda. She wore a fancy dress of a smooth fabric that ruffled out near the hem. Most of the cloth looked like a deep and rich shade of red, but it occasionally shimmered with a rainbow of colors. As he looked closer, he could see tiny stitching that looked like _cempazúchitl_ flowers and miniature skulls. She didn't have any hair on her skull, but she did have a huge hat covered in tiny glowing candles. Every bit of her outfit reminded Miguel of a rich, old-fashioned woman. Or rather, she looked like _La Calavera Catrina_ , the small lady skeleton figures sold for _Día de Muertos_.

But unlike everyone that he met in the Land of the Dead, she didn't have proper eyes. Her sockets were dark and gaping holes, empty except for the twin lights that glowed in their depths. Twin lights the same golden-orange as _cempazúchitl_ or the glow of the Final Death. And there was something about her that made Miguel shiver. He couldn't explain it, but he could somehow feel that she was unbelievably powerful and absolutely ancient. She was a little intimidating.

"YOU WONDER IF YOU MANAGED TO REMIND YOUR GREAT-GRANDMOTHER IN TIME?" she continued, her voice ringing like a giant bell. Not particularly loud, but with an unmistakable depth and heaviness to it. "YOU WONDER IF YOUR ACTIONS SAVED HÉCTOR RIVERA FROM THE FINAL DEATH?"

Miguel stared up at her, searching for his voice. Her tone was kind and her expression gentle. But he still felt a bit overwhelmed. She wasn't like the others.

Then he noticed his little sister waving at the skeleton. Socorro could see her. Miguel wasn't cursed this time. This… this was something completely new.

"Who… who are you, Señora?" he asked politely.

She smiled at him and said, "I HAVE GONE BY MANY NAMES OVER THE AGES. THEY HAVE CALLED ME MICTECACIHUATL. THEY HAVE CALLED ME SANTA MUERTE. THEY HAVE EVEN CALLED ME LA CALAVERA CATRINA WHEN THEY KNOW NO OTHER NAME. BUT I DO NOT WISH TO FRIGHTEN YOU, CHIQUITO. I TOOK ON AN APPEARANCE THAT WOULD BE MORE COMFORTING TO YOU." She gestured towards her outfit. "AND YOU MAY USE A LESS FORMAL NAME THAN WHAT MANY HAVE GIVEN ME. YOU MAY CALL ME WHAT I AM. YOU MAY CALL ME 'MUERTE,' IF THAT IS WHAT YOU WISH."

No matter what she might have intended, her list of names made him shiver slightly. This was too big. He couldn't quite wrap his head around it. So Miguel tried to focus on the easier facts. He focused on what was the most important.

"You… you know what happened to Papá Héctor. Is he all right?" asked Miguel nervously. "Did Mamá Coco remember him in time?"

Muerte stared at him, her glowing eyes filled with so much sympathy. Then she slowly shook her head.

"I AM AFRAID THAT HÉCTOR RIVERA SUCCUMBED TO THE FINAL DEATH."

No…

Miguel collapsed to his knees before he realized what happened, though he managed to keep a hold of his sister even as shock wrapped around him. No. It couldn't be true. He couldn't be gone.

And yet, somehow he knew that she was speaking the absolute truth. There was no lie in her words. He wasn't even certain that someone like her could be anything other than honest.

It wasn't fair. Héctor didn't deserve to disappear like that.

And Miguel tried. He tried to save his great-great-grandfather. He thought he had. But she said…

And Mamá Coco… Miguel promised that Papá Héctor would see her. He _promised_. It wasn't fair. Héctor was murdered and he waited for decades to see her again. And Mamá Coco waited her entire life to see her papá. And Miguel tried so hard and he thought it worked. He thought they were finally together.

But they weren't.

Miguel vaguely noticed that he was on the verge of sobs, but he didn't care. Héctor was gone. He ended up just like poor Chicharrón. It just wasn't fair.

Héctor just wanted to go home. He just wanted to see his family again. He wanted to see his daughter. And Miguel promised he would.

He should have been faster. He should have let them send him home sooner. He shouldn't have let Ernesto grab him and delay him so long. He should have run faster. He should have tried playing for Mamá Coco immediately. Miguel tried to figure out what he should have done. There must have been something that would have saved Héctor.

Miguel knew that he made mistakes that night. He'd focused solely on his own goal, refusing to listen or be distracted. He wasn't quite selfish, but he couldn't see much beyond his certainty that reaching Ernesto was the answer and anything else wasn't important. He didn't see that Imelda wanted to help him get home, even if she tried to keep him from music because of past hurts and it was how she chose to protect her family. He couldn't see that Dante wanted to help him, leading him to his family and trying to keep him from Ernesto. And Héctor wanted to help him, even if it was partially because Héctor knew it was his last chance to cross over and Miguel was too blind to initially see why it was so important. Miguel didn't realize how his dream, no matter how much he wanted it, should not come at the cost of everything else. Not until it was nearly too late.

But they got him home. Miguel realized that his family was more important than anything else and they managed to send him home. And he tried to do the same thing, tried to help his great-great-grandfather in return. He tried to bring Héctor back to Mamá Coco. Just like he promised.

He kept seeing Héctor, smiling weakly as he and Mamá Imelda sent Miguel home. How long after that did it take for him to disappear like Chicharrón? Was it almost as soon as Miguel left or did he hold on for a while only to vanish seconds before Mamá Coco remembered?

His little sister whimpered in his arms, picking up and mirroring Miguel's emotional state. He felt someone pulling Socorro from him gently. He let them, quiet sobs shaking his body.

It shouldn't hurt this much. He only met Héctor for one night and he'd died long ago. He was dead and gone before Miguel was born. It shouldn't leave a gaping hole and guilt in the boy's chest. But it did. Just knowing that the man was truly gone forever and would never see his daughter…

"I promised," he said, wiping at the tears on his face. His breath hitched with each sob. "It's not fair."

"WHETHER OR NOT IT IS FAIR WILL NOT CHANGE THE TRUTH."

Miguel looked back up. Muerte held his little sister, rocking the girl gently. The way she supported Socorro with such care and so similarly to how his mother did made Muerte seem less intimidating. But she was still an ancient and powerful force. He could feel it. She claimed to be Death and he believed her.

"Please, Señora Muerte… Is… is there anything you can do for him?" he asked in a wavering voice.

Looking at him both sternly and with kindness, Muerte said, "MANY HAVE ASKED ME FOR FAVORS, TO PRESERVE THEM FROM THEIR APPROACHING FATE AND TO SAVE LOVED ONES FROM DYING. I HAVE HEARD THE MOST HEARTFELT AND HONEST PLEAS, CHIQUITO. BUT EVEN I CANNOT DISRUPT THE NATURAL ORDER COMPLETELY. DEATH COMES TO ALL EQUALLY."

"But… I'm not asking for Papá Héctor to be alive," he said quietly. "I… I just wanted him… I…"

"YOU WANTED TO KEEP YOUR PROMISE. YOU WISH THAT HÉCTOR RIVERA COULD HAVE BEEN REUNITED WITH HIS DAUGHTER RATHER THAN EXPERIENCE THE FINAL DEATH."

Miguel sniffled, nodding sadly. It sounded silly when she said it like that, wishing for what he couldn't have. It was too much to hope for. He had no right to ask for something like that. His great-great-grandfather was gone.

"DO YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS TO A SOUL WHO IS TRULY FORGOTTEN, CHIQUITO? THE LIVING RARELY UNDERSTAND THE FULL PICTURE OF WHAT HAPPENS IN DEATH," continued Muerte gently, balancing little Socorro on her hip. "SOME MOVE ON TO A PLACE OF PUNISHMENT, THEIR ACTIONS IN LIFE AND DEATH CONDEMNING THEM TO THEIR FATE. OTHERS FIND THEMSELVES SOMEWHERE PLEASANT AND JOYFUL. BUT OTHERS, THOSE WHO ARE UNDESERVING OF FURTHER SUFFERING AND YET UNABLE TO HANDLE A BRIGHTER PLACE YET, COME TO ME INSTEAD."

"And where did Papá Héctor go?" he asked quietly.

Muerte knelt down, setting the baby next to the _ofrenda_. Socorro immediately started patting the draping fabric, quite content with her current investigations and unconcerned about her unusual companion. Muerte then reached to cup Miguel's face. The glowing lights in her eye sockets met his gaze firmly.

"HIS SOUL FELL INTO MY REALM. LIKE SO MANY UNDER MY CARE, HE WAS NOT ESPECIALLY CRUEL AND DID NOT DESERVE FURTHER MISERY. BUT HE WAS TOO BROKEN, LOST, AND WEARY FROM THE LAST SEVERAL DECADES FOR HIM TO EMBRACE A BRIGHTER FATE," said Muerte. "SOME SOULS WOULD NOT SEE THAT JOYFUL PLACE AS A KINDNESS. IT WOULD BE TOO FOREIGN AND STRANGE FOR THEM TO ACCEPT. IT WOULD GIVE THEM NEITHER PEACE NOR COMFORT. HÉCTOR RIVERA IS ONE SUCH SOUL." She brushed away a few tears from his face. "HE IS NOT SUFFERING, CHIQUITO. NOT ANYMORE. NONE IN MY REALM DO."

He sniffed sadly, rubbing at his eyes. Miguel tried to find some small comfort in what she was saying. Papá Héctor wasn't suffering. It wasn't much, but at least he knew. He tried to ease the knot in his chest with that fact. But…

"I just wanted to help him," he said quietly. "I promised…"

"AND DO YOU STILL WISH THAT?" asked Muerte, a strange inflection in her voice.

He stiffened at her question. Hope began to ring through the boy like a plucked guitar string. Not much, but just enough for his tears to stop.

" _Sí_ ," he whispered.

She tilted her skull and said, "HÉCTOR RIVERA WAS FORGOTTEN, BUT NOW HE IS REMEMBERED. YOU ENSURED THAT. IF HE WAS IN THE LAND OF THE DEAD, HE WOULD REMAIN THERE." She smiled at the boy. "THOUGH EVEN I CANNOT DISRUPT THE NATURAL ORDER DIRECTLY, THERE MAY BE WAYS AROUND SUCH THINGS."

"Does that mean you can bring him back? Please, Señora Muerte, can you bring Papá Héctor back to his family?"

She met his hopeful gaze with an expression that Miguel couldn't read. She released her gentle hold on his face and stood straight up again. He remained kneeling on the floor, waiting for her response.

"MY REALM IS NOT A PLACE TO TREAT LIGHTLY. NOR IS THE FINAL DEATH EASILY REVERSED," she said solemnly. "WHERE HIS SOUL RESTS… IT IS A PLACE THAT THE LIVING CANNOT REACH AND THE DEAD DO NOT RETURN FROM. AND I MAY NOT RESTORE HIM DIRECTLY."

Searching her words carefully, Miguel asked, "But if _you_ can't bring him back, does that mean someone else could?"

Muerte smiled at him the same way his teacher would whenever someone gave the right answer. But before he could pursue that thought further, Miguel heard a dragging sound approaching quickly.

Miguel didn't know what he expected to see, but it certainly wasn't Dante trotting through the doorway while he pulled the familiar white guitar behind. The hairless dog clearly was being careful with his teeth on the neck, not leaving a single scratch on the finish or messing up the strings. He eyed Muerte briefly, but didn't growl or snap in her direction. And since Dante was also an _alebrije_ , it was probably a good sign. Miguel knew he could trust his spirit guide's judgment.

"MIGUEL RIVERA… YOU SPENT TOO LONG IN THE LAND OF THE DEAD. WHILE YOU ARE MOSTLY ALIVE, YOU ARE STILL TOUCHED BY DEATH. YOU ARE BOTH. AND THAT MEANS YOU MAY ENTER MY REALM. YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE WHO COULD RETURN HÉCTOR RIVERA."

A smile began to bloom on his face. He could get Héctor back? Miguel could barely contain himself. It wasn't too late. He could still get his great-great-grandfather back. He could keep his promise. He could bring Papá Héctor home to see his family.

"BUT BE WARNED," said Muerte, interrupting his thoughts. "WHAT WE ARE DISCUSSING WILL NOT COME EASILY. THERE WILL BE A COST AND YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN PAY IT."

That made him pause, his thoughts stumbling over her words. Some of his previous nervousness and the sense of intimidation was returning. Reaching over, Miguel took his great-great-grandfather's guitar and slung it over his back. Its presence and the familiar weight felt comforting and reassuring.

"What kind of price?" he asked.

"CHIQUITO, WHAT YOU WISH FOR IS A MIRACLE. THE COST WILL REFLECT THAT. IF THIS IS WHAT YOU WANT, YOU WILL HAVE TO PAY FOR IT USING YOUR HEART AND SOUL."

He frowned at her vague words. Was that literally or some kind of poetic way of saying something else? What did she mean exactly? What could he possibly have that could be equal to…

Realization hit as a chill ran through his entire body. Of course. What could be equal to the existence of one person other than that of another? That must be what she was talking about. If he wanted to bring Héctor back from the Final Death, then it sounded like Miguel would have to take his place.

He would essentially die.

Miguel came so close to being trapped in the Land of the Dead. He came so close to never seeing his parents and the rest of his family again. Or at least not until their deaths. He would have never grown up. He would have missed out on his sister's birth. He would have left them all behind, his final words to them spoken in anger.

Miguel didn't want to die. Not yet. And he certainly didn't want to end up somewhere that would separate him from his family, both living and dead. The idea scared him. He was only thirteen. He didn't want to die yet. He didn't want everything to end.

But…

He took a shaking breath. Ninety-six years. Héctor was separated from his family for ninety-six years before the Final Death claimed him. He'd been trying to cross the bridge and see his daughter for ninety-six years. Miguel couldn't even imagine what that was like. And no matter what happened, he kept trying until the very end. Héctor deserved better. He deserved this chance.

Family comes first. And Miguel promised him. He _promised_.

His breathing still shaking, Miguel asked, "Will… will it hurt?"

"NO, CHIQUITO. THERE WILL BE NO PAIN. AND YOU MAY CHANGE YOUR MIND AT ANY POINT. NO ONE WOULD BLAME YOU SHOULD YOU CHOOSE OTHERWISE," she said gently. "THIS IS YOUR DECISION. LET NO ONE ELSE MAKE IT FOR YOU. ARE YOU WILLING TO PAY THE COST OF A MIRACLE FOR HÉCTOR RIVERA?"

He swallowed hard. But he didn't immediately answer. Miguel instead turned to face his dog.

"Take care of my little sister, Dante. Okay, boy? You keep an eye on her and keep her safe for me."

His _alebrije_ normally seemed so carefree, his tongue lolling out of his mouth all the time. But either Miguel's tone or Muerte's presence made the dog act more serious. Dante walked over to Socorro before curling around her protectively. Miguel smiled weakly. Dante would do what he asked.

A scream of shock and horror caused Miguel's head to whip around. Prima Rosa stood at the doorway, her hands clasped to her mouth and her eyes wide as she stared at Muerte. His cousin looked absolutely stunned by the presence of a tall skeletal woman in front of their _ofrenda_. And Miguel knew her scream would call down the rest of the family.

Part of him wanted one last look at all his loved ones. He wanted to say goodbye to Mamá, Papá, and everyone else. But he knew they would try to stop him.

"WILL YOU COME WITH ME, MIGUEL RIVERA?" Muerte asked as more racing footsteps and calling voices approached quickly. "DO I HAVE YOUR DECISION?"

Trying to ignore the shouts of shock and his family crying out his name as they came into view, Miguel met the glowing lights that served as her eyes. Even kneeling before Muerte and knowing that this was the end, he felt oddly calm about his choice. He knew this was the right thing to do. It would be difficult, but it was right.

He was saving part of the family he loved.

He nodded stiffly and said, " _Sí_ , Señora Muerte."

Somehow his response managed to spark off more panicked cries from his family. Miguel turned slightly to see his papá being held back by Tío Berto while Tía Gloria did the same for his mamá. Abuelita was already pulling off her _chancla_. Even if they didn't know what was happening, his family was ready to try and help save him. Because that's what families were meant to do.

And that's why Miguel was doing this. Papá Héctor needed help. And for possibly the first time in several decades, someone would give it to him.

Miguel gave them all a reassuring smile, hoping that they would understand someday that he wasn't abandoning them on purpose. He was doing this for the one person in their family who needed him most. Muerte reached down and placed her hand on his shoulder. He blinked back a few tears just as swirling _cempazúchitl_ petals engulfed him like a storm, leaving his parents' desperate faces as his final glimpse of the living world before he disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for Muerte, I borrowed ideas from a few places. La Muerte from "The Book of Life," La Calavera Catrina, and Santa Muerte are the main sources of inspiration for her appearance, but the whole "TALKING IN ALL CAPITAL LETTERS" thing is straight from Terry Pratchett's version of Death in "Discworld." Got to love anthropomorphic personifications of abstract concepts.
> 
> But it looks like Miguel is taking a bit of a trip. But he isn't going to the Land of the Dead this time. He's going somewhere quite different…


	3. Petals

When they ran across the courtyard in a panic at Rosa's scream, they expected the worst. The girl sounded absolutely terrified and Enrique knew that his niece didn't scare easily. He wasn't prepared for what they found, though.

A tall skeletal woman in red and with glowing eyes loomed over his children. While Socorro sat on the floor next to the _ofrenda_ with Dante, Miguel knelt in front of her. He didn't even seem to notice or care about the sense of foreboding and power that seemed to radiate from her. Nor did he flinch at how unnaturally her voice rang out as she asked Miguel to go with her.

And once his son agreed, all of Enrique's caution vanished. He surged forward, trying to reach Miguel. Every parental instinct demanded he place himself between his children and the threat. His brother grabbed Enrique while his sister did the same for Luisa. But no matter how desperate they were to reach their children, they couldn't pull away. Not before the skeleton placed a hand on Miguel's shoulder.

With a shout, Mamá hurtled her _chancla_ at the skull with deadly accuracy. But right before impact, _cempazúchitl_ petals exploded out and washed over them. The force knocked Enrique off his feet and left his head spinning. The world became nothing more than orange petals and chaos.

But after several seconds, the _cempazúchitl_ petals settled and he could see again. Every inch of the ground was covered in a thick layer of golden-orange. The petals were practically carpeting everything underfoot. He couldn't even see the ground itself. There had to be millions of them.

Enrique jerked his head up. Socorro was still in place, laughing happily as Dante sneezed from the flowers. But the skeleton and Miguel had disappeared. His son was gone.

His son was _gone_.

Panic and horror tore at him like a wild animal. He climbed to his feet frantically as his wife hurried to scoop up their daughter, holding a little too tightly as if she would be snatched away too. Everyone else shouted over each other, frightened and confused. Enrique saw his nephew running towards the road, perhaps to find help or thinking he could catch up with their missing family member. It was the only way that Miguel could have left.

Except Enrique knew they didn't leave through any normal means. This was something else.

Enrique met his wife's eyes, horror and despair mirrored in their expressions. Even as Luisa cradled Socorro desperately, he knew her thoughts were on their eldest child. He couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe what had just happened.

He heard what Miguel called the skeleton. He knew what she was. Logic and reason said that it could not be, but he couldn't deny his senses. He couldn't deny what he felt in her presence. He never expected to see the incarnation of death looming over his son. He never imagined Miguel being snatched away like that.

Enrique wrapped an arm around Luisa, hugging both of his girls tightly. He had to be strong for them. He couldn't fall apart from what was happening, no matter how much bigger this entire situation was than him. They had to do something, but he didn't know what. All he knew was that something far more powerful than anyone mortal had stolen his child. And that left a gaping hole in his chest, a pain that he couldn't even describe. His ribs felt like they were tightening around his lungs, squeezing tightly and leaving him struggling to breathe.

Not his child. Not his son. He couldn't lose his boy.

Putting her shoe back on, Mamá said firmly, "I don't care who or what she was. She will bring back my Migelito home or else—"

"Abuelita!" called Abel desperately. The teenager ran back to them, looking more frightened than before. "We can't leave. It's like there's an invisible wall. We're trapped on the property."

* * *

Miguel blinked a few times to clear his vision once the petals fell away. He could tell instantly that this wasn't home. And it certainly wasn't the bright and colorful Land of the Dead. He climbed to his feet and studied his surroundings.

It was gray. The smooth stone underfoot, the thick fog that swirled around him, and even the light that trickled down were various shades of gray. And even with limited visibility, it looked empty. No trees, people, animals, or buildings. The only thing that kept it from everything being exactly the same was the slight incline, like he was on a very shallow hill. There were no other features on the barren landscape.

No, that wasn't completely true. As Miguel looked closer, he could see tiny and very dim lights in the fog. Like little candle flames. Dim candles.

And there was a feeling in the air. Not just the slight chill. He could feel… emotions. Not his emotions, others' emotions. He couldn't explain it, but he knew the feelings were coming from others. He could pick up on tiny hints of unease or loneliness, but he mostly felt peaceful sleepiness and calm. It made him want to yawn.

"What is this place?" he asked, his voice hushed for reasons he couldn't explain.

"THIS IS MY REALM."

Miguel spun around. Muerte stood there, but she'd changed a little from when he first saw her. Her dress and hat were gone. Instead, she wore a dark robe with the hood pulled up over her skull. At first, the fabric appeared black. But every movement made it shimmer. Miguel caught glimpses of red, green, amber, brown, blue, and purple within the black. It seemed more solemn and serious than her previous clothes, which she had admitted were chosen to be reassuring to him. And the robes certainly seemed more appropriate for their new surroundings than the brighter outfit.

"THIS IS WHERE THE FORGOTTEN WHO BELONG NOWHERE ELSE COME TO REST," continued Muerte, reaching out to one of the dim lights and cradling it in her hand. "THOUGH IT IS NOT ALWAYS PERMANENT. SOME, WHEN THEIR TIME HERE HAS LET THEM HEAL, ARE ABLE TO MOVE ON TO A MORE JOYFUL PLACE. THAT IS WHAT I PREFER. THOSE WHO CAN MOVE ON TO A BETTER FATE DESERVE TO DO SO. I MERELY CARE FOR THOSE WHO CANNOT EMBRACE A BRIGHTER PLACE. OR ARE NOT YET READY."

She cradled the little light a moment longer before releasing it back into the gray fog. Miguel waited a moment before taking a step forward.

"Señora Muerte? My Papá Héctor? How do I send him home from this place?" he asked hesitantly. "I don't even see anyone here."

"THEY ARE HERE, CHIQUITO. WHAT DO YOU BELIEVE THE LIGHTS ARE? THEY ARE SOULS, SLEEPING WITHOUT DREAMS AND WITHOUT REMEMBERING THEIR PAIN."

Miguel turned to look at the dim points of light with new appreciation. The soft glow was the same color as the light that accompanied the Final Death, the light that wrapped around Papá Héctor's bones. It made sense. Each little light was someone forgotten by everyone. Someone who wasn't evil, but couldn't go somewhere better.

And the more he looked, the more glowing pinpricks Miguel spotted in the fog.

"Can… can they see or hear us?"

"THEY SLUMBER, CHIQUITO," said Muerte patiently. "WHEN YOU SLEEP, YOU ARE NOT AWARE OF THE WORLD AROUND YOU. BUT IT CAN STILL AFFECT YOUR REST. A LULLABY TO RELAX AND COMFORT. OR SHOUTS TO STARTLE AND AWAKEN." She gestured to her surroundings. "THEY CAN BE PARTIALLY AWAKENED IF YOU TRY, THOUGH SLEEP IS MORE NATURAL FOR THEM. PLEASE DO NOT TRY TO DISTURB THEM WITH SHOUTS OF ANGER OR CRUELTY. TOO MANY OF THESE POOR SOULS HEARD AND FEARED SUCH THINGS FAR TOO MUCH IN LIFE. I WISH TO SPARE THEM SUCH PAIN HERE."

Miguel nodded. No yelling or shouting. He didn't want to scare them. Let them sleep. He could feel how tired they were.

"Is Chicharrón here?" he asked quietly, remembering the poor skeleton that he barely met before the Final Death claimed him.

She smiled kindly and said, "HE IS NOT. HE DID NOT NEED THE PEACE THAT I OFFER. NOT AT THE END. HE FOUND A MORE CHEERFUL PLACE." Tilting her head briefly, she added, "AND BEFORE YOU ASK, CHIQUITO, ERNESTO DE LA CRUZ SHALL NOT COME TO ME WHEN HE IS FORGOTTEN. HIS CRIMES HAVE FORGED HIM A FAR LESS PLEASANT FATE."

Maybe it was a bit mean or vicious of him, but Miguel felt some grim satisfaction at that news. After everything that happened, Ernesto deserved it. He tore the Rivera family apart, his actions affecting multiple generations. He enjoyed fame and fortune for decades because of his lies. And most importantly, he killed a friend because of ambition. Ernesto suffered no consequences in life for what he did. And even if he was now exposed, Ernesto enjoyed his fame even in death for far too long. It was nice to know that the man would truly pay for his actions.

Rubbing his arms while glancing around the empty landscape, Miguel asked, "If all of these lights are souls, how can I recognize anyone? How can I find Papá Héctor so he can go home?"

She gestured towards the fog and said, "WALK DOWNHILL. YOU WILL KNOW WHEN TO STOP, CHIQUITO." Muerte leaned down and cupped his face gently. "LISTEN CAREFULLY. YOU DO NOT HAVE TO DO THIS IF YOU WISH TO CHANGE YOUR MIND. NO ONE WOULD BLAME YOU OR EVEN KNOW THE DECISION YOU WERE OFFERED. IF YOU WANT TO RETURN HOME INSTEAD, SIMPLY TURN AROUND AND WALK BACK THE WAY YOU CAME AT ANY POINT. DO YOU UNDERSTAND, CHIQUITO?"

" _Sí_ , Señora Muerte," said Miguel. "I understand."

"THEN I WILL LET YOU BEGIN."

With a nod, she vanished in a swirl of marigolds. And Miguel was left alone in the fog.

He started shaking a little, everything starting to properly sink in. The implications of his decision were beginning to hit the boy. He'd really done it. He'd voluntarily left his family and the Land of the Living. Miguel collapsed on the ground, his breath hitching and his eyes burning. He chose to do this. He chose to come to this place and to rescue Héctor, even with the steep consequences. He chose this. But it still scared him.

He was scared, lonely, and trying not to think about how he would never see his family again. Not here in this place where only the forgotten ended up. And not even all the forgotten. Just those with who didn't belong anywhere else. The rest of his family wouldn't end up here. Would they ever know what happened to him? How much would his disappearance hurt them?

He tried not to think about how he would spend the rest of his existence in this gray place. He could already feel the sleepiness of the souls affecting him a little. He knew that he would never leave. But Miguel didn't want to think about it. He didn't regret his choice, but he regretted some of the consequences.

Miguel took a shaking breath, trying to calm down. His hand tightened on the guitar strap across his chest. Both the feeling of the strap wrapped in his fingers and the weight of the guitar on his back helped ground him. It helped him remember why he was doing this.

This wasn't about him. Miguel was there to save Papá Héctor. He couldn't be selfish. His ancestor had been alone and ignored for too long.

Miguel could change his mind. Muerte said he could go home at any point. She said that no one would blame him if he wanted to leave instead. But Miguel couldn't do that. He couldn't leave Héctor here.

Miguel climbed back to his feet. Then, taking a shaking breath, he started walking forward.

* * *

They'd split briefly, everyone quickly trying to determine the validity of Abel's statement. But the frantic and thorough investigations didn't last long. They eventually met back in the courtyard and compared their findings.

They weren't promising at all.

The family had tried every door, window, and archway. Abel had even tried climbing over the wall. No matter where any of them tried to go, it was like they hit a glass wall when they attempted to step off the _cempazúchitl_ petals. And those flowers extended inside, outside, and across the entire property. Enrique had tried kicking them away, but there were more layers underneath.

Even more disturbing was when his sister-in-law, Carmen, tried to call for help from the neighbors as they hurried down the street towards the cemetery. No one reacted. They didn't even blink or glance in their direction. It was as if the rest of Santa Cecilia had gone blind and deaf. Or as if the entire Rivera family had become invisible.

"We're trapped," said Enrique. "She… She took Miguel and trapped us here. Why? What does she want?"

"I don't know, _míjo_ ," Mamá said. "But she will regret coming after our family. Franco, lend me your cowboy boot. I don't think my _chancla_ will be enough this time."

Papá went over to her, trying to talk his wife down since attacking a tall skeleton who seemed to be the incarnation of death might not be wise. Enrique hoped he would succeed, but he knew his mamá would not back down easily. Carmen and his sister, Gloria, were trying to comfort Luisa. His older niece and nephew were watching over their younger twin siblings. They were all trying to keep calm and act as if they had some form of control on the situation, but there was an undercurrent of barely-restrained worry and fear.

They couldn't get out. They couldn't get help. And they had no idea where Miguel was or how to get him back.

Enrique tried not to think about the impossibility of it all. They _had_ to get their son back somehow. They couldn't lose him.

"I think they went a bit overboard with the _cempazúchitl_ petals this year," said a cheerful voice.

The entire family whirled around towards the entrance to the property. For a moment, Enrique thought it must have been a neighbor who came to see why they weren't at the cemetery yet. He thought that maybe help had arrived. But the small group that wandered into the courtyard left them staring.

Skeletons. Not like the tall one with glowing eyes that stole away Miguel. These were less overwhelming and intimidating than Muerte. And as strange as their appearances might be, there was also something familiar about each of them.

"I don't know, Rosita," the short skeleton with a thick mustache and a large hat said. "Something seems wrong."

Enrique saw his mamá stiffen at that one. A hand went to her mouth and her eyes crinkled with something both sad and happy.

"Papá?" she asked hesitantly.

"Elena?" said the skeleton, blinking in surprise. "Can you see us?"

Stepping over to the short skeleton, another skeleton took his hand and gave the old woman a kind look. She was a short skeleton as well, but she possessed long white hair carefully arranged into twin braids. And even if she was now a skeleton, Enrique recognized her. Her eyes were brighter and more aware than he'd seen them in years. Even brighter than when Miguel would coax out stories and memories with his music.

Yes, Enrique knew her. Even like this, he knew her.

"I believe they all can, Julio," she said. "The entire family is looking right at us."

And Enrique could see that his mamá had hit the limit of her patience. She crossed the rest of the courtyard and wrapped her arms around both of her skeletal parents. For a moment, she was simply a daughter who missed them and that was all that mattered. Both of the skeletons looked briefly surprised by the contact, as if they thought she would simply pass straight through them like smoke. But they quickly returned the embrace of their grown child.

"Mamá Coco? Is that you? How is this possible?" asked Rosa. "I… I thought adults made up all that stuff about the dead coming back."

"If you say that you believe vitamins are fake as well, I will be very disappointed," a skeleton in blue said sternly, Enrique recognizing Tía Victoria a moment later.

"Of _course_ vitamins are real," said Rosa, crossing her arms. "But why do skeletons keep showing up here? Why now?"

A rather imposing skeleton in purple moved to the front of the group, a pair of nearly identical ones in bowler hats following. Even without the clear similarities to her photograph, the way everyone deferred to her with their body language made it easy to identify the woman.

"Miguel, how in the world did you managed to curse your entire family at once?" Imelda demanded. Then, when she received no response and then scanned the crowd on confused people, she asked, "Where is Miguel? There is no possible way that he's not involved in this."

While Enrique tried to figure out why they were seeing their dead family members and why they thought Miguel of all people would know what was happening, Luisa just shook her head slightly. She cradled her daughter even as she stared at the dead and confused matriarch.

"He's gone. Miguel disappeared," Luisa said in a wavering voice. "She took him."

That produced immediate reactions from all the skeletons. They stiffened and exchanged worried looks, someone muttering "he can't be gone again" to another. Coco tightened her grip on her husband's hand and Tía Rosita covered her mouth in shock. Enrique couldn't follow the rapidly shifting emotions that flashed across Imelda's skull, but she eventually settled into stubborn determination and protective anger.

"Who took Miguel? Who went after our family?" demanded Imelda, her voice sharp and intimidating.

"THE NAME THAT YOU MAY USE IS 'MUERTE.' BUT I DID NOT TAKE HIM. HE MADE THE DECISION. MIGUEL RIVERA IS IN MY REALM, A PLACE BEYOND THE REACH OF THE LIVING OR THE DEAD."


	4. Guilt

As strange a thought it might be for his situation and surroundings, he honestly missed his red hoodie. Left behind in the Land of the Dead, it was a good hoodie. It was warm and comfortable, perfect for a boy running around all night in a strange place. His white dress shirt wasn't nearly as effective as keeping away the chill in the air and he didn't have the huge pockets to stuff his hands in.

It was strange what the mind could focus on when there was nothing else to occupy the time.

Once some of his fears and resignation at what he'd chosen began to settle down, Miguel began to grow a little bored. There were no sounds and no landmarks to help pass the time or hold his attention. There was only the fog and the faint lights. As he kept walking down the slope, the silence began to bother him.

He yawned, rubbing at his eyes briefly. It was hard to tell where his drowsiness ended and the tired emotions of the surrounding souls began. Miguel didn't know what would happen if he fell asleep in this place. Muerte didn't say anything about it or warn him not to. But if he fell asleep, he might never wake up. And the only way to get Héctor back to his family would be to find him and he would have to stay awake to do it. So the boy kept walking through the fog and uncomfortable silence.

Even after a lifetime of living under a music ban (and finding ways around it), there were some impulses that couldn't be squashed. Miguel didn't realize he was humming under his breath until he started picking up groggy interest from the other souls. He saw them brighten slightly as Miguel drew near and then fade back to normal once he was out of hearing range. Miguel didn't want to disturb them, but they seemed to like the quiet humming.

So Miguel continued to hum softly as he walked forward. Not a lullaby. Certainly not his Mamá Coco's lullaby. But he found himself humming the same song that he sang on stage a year ago. And he watched the lights brighten and dim as the souls responded in sleepy pleasure to the music.

There were some truths that were universal. Alive or dead, asleep or awake, music could move the hearts and minds of anyone. It could call to them. It could build them up. It could change almost everything, healing and bringing people together if done right. Good music could do so many things for those who choose to listen.

And if these souls liked the song, then Miguel had no problem passing the time by humming. He had no idea how far he would need to walk and music would make the journey easier. It would keep him awake and moving.

* * *

 

It had not been a good year. By any definition.

The foundation of the miserable year of guilt, regrets, and sorrow was established long ago however. And Imelda held far more responsibility for what happened than she wanted to admit.

When Héctor left over ninety years ago, she hadn't been happy with the idea. But he told Imelda and their little Coco it wouldn't be for long. He wanted to share his music and find inspiration with new songs to bring back to them. He promised that he would come home to his girls. He promised both of them.

And for the first few months, he kept in contact. Letters for Coco that her mamá carefully read to their toddler and letters for Imelda that came with the money that Héctor earned from his and Ernesto's performances. Those letters let her hold her head up confidently as the whispers and pitying looks over her long-absent husband began. It didn't matter what they suggested about how even the most loyal man could have his head turned by a pretty young _señorita_ , especially so far from home. It didn't matter that they whispered stories behind her back of men abandoning everything for fame and fortune. It didn't matter to Imelda because he promised.

But then the letters stopped. The money sent to support their family stopped. And the whispers and pity only grew stronger. The rest of the town knew what she refused to admit until a few months after that: Héctor wasn't coming back.

When she finally accepted that he was gone, she didn't break. Imelda refused to break. The people of Santa Cecilia were right. Her papá was right. She hated it and didn't want to admit that any of them were right, but she knew. It hurt and Imelda refused to let that man, and the music that tempted him away from his family, hurt her ever again.

Not to mention that even something as simple as a strummed guitar or voice raised in song tore at the ragged hole in her heart, the one she refused to acknowledge was there. The ragged hole left behind when he abandoned everything he supposedly loved.

That's when Imelda made a decision that defined the Rivera family for generations and set in motion more suffering than she could have imagined. And she stuck with that choice, unchanging and unwavering. She would never let that man or the memory of him hurt them again. She would never let music split her family apart again. Imelda stood by her decision to cut those things from her home and away from her family for ninety-six years, in life and death. She held firm, protecting her heart and her loved ones from such harm. She protected them by denying and ignoring the source of all that buried pain.

But then last _Día de Muertos_ occurred.

Guilt and regret seemed to be the biggest defining feature of the last several months. It wouldn't break her. Nothing would ever break Imelda. But from the moment that she learned that her husband was murdered trying to return and saw the telltale flashes of gold light, she'd realized exactly what she'd done. Exactly what she'd condemned him to by her actions.

An hour of knowing the truth wasn't enough to erase ninety-six years of believing the worst. It didn't erase those decades of heartache, fury, and suppressed tears. It didn't make her forget working tirelessly her entire lifespan to build a business when almost no one thought a single mother could accomplish anything on her own, the proud woman refusing to accept charity or even consider crawling back to her papá just as he always predicted. It didn't undo how her daughter cried when Imelda finally told her that he wasn't coming home like he promised and how Coco refused to believe it even as she learned not to speak of the man.

An hour wasn't enough for Imelda to forgive. An hour wasn't even enough to come to terms with what had truly happened back then and the consequences her decision had wrought.

But an hour was all she had before dawn arrived. And no matter how she clung to hope and denial in equal measures, she'd sealed his fate long ago with her anger and heartache.

For the dead, the morning after _Día de Muertos_ was considered the start of the new year. Her new year began with her husband turning into dust in her arms.

Héctor disappeared as completely and thoroughly as if he never existed, forgotten by everyone alive. He left her a second time. He left her because Imelda's decision decades ago led to her husband suffering the Final Death.

She never wanted that, even when her pain and fury were at their greatest. Not even when she raged and swore behind closed doors over the man who abandoned her with no way to support and care for their child, only her younger brothers guessing how much she hurt and struggled not to weep. She never wished that fate on him. But she couldn't take back her actions in life. She couldn't fix what she'd done. She couldn't bring him back. There would be no second chances.

Imelda rarely regretted her decisions. She rarely reconsidered or second-guessed her choices. But for the past year, she'd carried the weight of her guilt on her soul. She wanted nothing more than to go back and change what happened.

An hour of knowing the truth wasn't enough time for her to forgive him. And he didn't even have the chance to forgive her for what her actions had done to him, even if Héctor could bring himself to consider such a thing. Imelda certainly would never forgive herself.

And when she thought the guilt and regret couldn't grow any worse, Imelda learned that it could. The death of a family member was usually both a sad moment as a life came to an end and a happy one of reunion. The Rivera family welcomed Coco to the Land of the Dead with open arms a few months short of _Día de Muertos._ They reminisced with her about the past and asked her about their living relatives. But then she asked the one question that no one wanted to answer. Coco asked about her papá. Even after so long, she wanted to see him.

They had no choice. They couldn't lie to her and claim that they didn't know where he was. They couldn't deny her the truth. She deserved to know.

But when they admitted Héctor was gone, that he'd been forgotten and lost months before, Imelda watched her daughter break down in horrified tears. Imelda watched Coco blame herself for age and time causing her memories to fade. She watched Coco finally lose that tiny piece of hope that her papá would come home as he promised so long ago. She watched Coco suffering because of Imelda's choice.

It wasn't Coco's fault, something that they all repeatedly reassured her. What happened wasn't her fault. It was Ernesto's fault.

And Imelda's.

A year after she lost the man she married a second time, it was _Día de Muertos_ once more. Her photograph was displayed proudly on the family _ofrenda_ , just like it was for so many years. They crossed the bridge together without issue. And they returned to their home and living family to see them, knowing that there was one member that should have been with them. That _deserved_ to be with them.

But no matter what she and the others expected when they arrived, reality proved very different. _Cempazúchitl_ petals coated the entire ground, the living family seemed more distressed than celebratory, and they _saw_. They saw the dead, just like Miguel did a year ago.

That was not a common occurrence. It almost never happened. So for it to happen again, there must be something unusual behind it. Especially since it involved the entire family. This was purposefully done rather than accidental. The only one who could possibly have caused this was the one person that she knew managed it before.

Miguel attracted trouble like his dog attracted fleas. He practically dove straight into chaos with reckless abandonment, chasing after his goals even as the world threw every possible obstacle into his path. But he was also clever and thought quickly on his feet. And Miguel was amazingly talented and clearly loved music _and_ his family. In many ways, the boy reminded her of Héctor. He inherited quite a few traits from his great-great-grandfather.

Imelda had no idea where Miguel got his impossible stubborn streak from though.

But when she demanded answers about what was happening to their family, Imelda didn't find her great-great-grandson wearing a sheepish expression. He wasn't there. And then her great-granddaughter-in-law admitted that Miguel was gone. That someone took him.

No.

She refused to accept it. They already lost Héctor, memories of Imelda trying to hold him in her arms as he turned to dust and slipped away still too fresh. She refused to lose anyone else. She would protect her family.

She wouldn't let anything happen to her family. Not again. Never again.

And whoever tried to steal away their Miguel would regret it.

"Who took Miguel?" asked Imelda sharply. "Who went after our family?"

"THE NAME THAT YOU MAY USE IS 'MUERTE.' BUT I DID NOT TAKE HIM. HE MADE THE DECISION. MIGUEL RIVERA IS IN MY REALM, A PLACE BEYOND THE REACH OF THE LIVING OR THE DEAD."

Imelda spun around at the voice, yanking off her boot mid-motion. But as she raised it threateningly, she caught sight of someone who wasn't there a moment before. And it left her frozen for a moment.

She was another skeleton, but over a head taller than the rest of them and wrapped in dark robes. And there were no eyes in her sockets. Only glowing lights, ones that made Imelda shiver involuntarily. She wasn't like them. They could feel it. She wasn't from the Land of the Dead. She was something different. She was something _more_.

But that moment of frozen shock didn't last long before it was replaced by something that burned. Even as the living and dead family cringed back from Muerte, Imelda couldn't care less about who or what she was facing. She refused to back down.

"If you're the one who kidnapped Miguel and he's wherever you are from, then give him back," said Imelda sharply, gesturing at her with the boot. "Return him immediately. Do not make me say it again."

"I DID NOT KIDNAP THE BOY. NOR DID I FORCE HIS ACTIONS IN ANY MANNER," she said. "MIGUEL RIVERA MADE THE DECISION. THAT IS WHY HE IS GONE."

"But why?" asked Luisa, tears in her eyes. "Why would he choose that?"

Taking a step forward even as he shook, Enrique said, "He's just a boy. How can you expect him to make a decision like that? He couldn't have known what he was doing."

"IGNORANCE OF THE CONSEQUENCES DOES NOT PROTECT ANYONE FROM THEM. RESPECT HIS DECISION. HE ACCEPTED, EVEN WHEN OFFERED THE CHANCE TO REMAIN HERE."

"Enough," snapped Imelda, marching forward. "Return Miguel at once. No matter what he's said, we cannot allow you to steal him from his family. And if you don't bring him home at once, I—"

" _SILENCE_."

Everyone stumbled back in fear, several cries and shrieks coming from the family as the dead shoved the living behind them to protect their loved ones. Even Imelda took a step back, dropping her boot and crossing herself.

For a brief instant, Muerte changed. Like a flash, she instantly towered over all the buildings in Santa Cecilia as her black robes seemed to melt into the darkening skies. She loomed over them even though she shouldn't fit in the courtyard any longer. Her glowing eyes flickered and burned like flames in her sockets. All the hints of power below the surface was now on full display.

Imelda could feel it in her bones and in her soul: this was death incarnate and could end their existences without effort. The dead belonged to her. Muerte could not be threatened. She was beyond any of them.

And then she was back to the way she appeared before. Muerte once more appeared like a tall skeletal woman rather than a towering behemoth that loomed over the entire property. But they knew she simply chose to appear smaller. Her power hadn't weakened or lessened in any way. It was still there, tucked away and waiting.

"DO YOU BELIEVE THAT YOU KNOW BETTER THAN ANYONE ELSE WHAT IS RIGHT? THAT YOUR DECISIONS HAVE NEVER CAUSED HARM? THAT YOU ARE AWARE OF ALL POSSIBLE CONSEQUENCES AND NEVER SET INTO ACTION TRAGIC EVENTS UNKNOWINGLY?"

Imelda averted her gaze, unable to respond to the words as they tore at her. Ignorance of the consequences was no excuse. She didn't consider what her choices in life would mean in the decades after her death.

But just because she didn't realize what would happen to him and just because she didn't want it, that didn't change the fact that her actions had consequences and that Héctor paid the price.

She would never forget what she'd done. And she would never forgive herself.

"THERE HAVE BEEN TOO MANY TEARS AND HEARTACHE. AND MEMBERS OF THIS FAMILY HAVE CAUSED MUCH OF IT TOWARDS ONE ANOTHER. MIGUEL RIVERA IS THE ONE WHO HAS BEEN DOING THE MOST TO REPAIR THE DAMAGE SO FAR."

"We have only ever tried to do what is best for our family," said Elena, pulling away from Coco. "Everything we've done, we've done for family."

"AND YET YOUR ATTEMPTS HAVE CAUSED SO MUCH PAIN. A YEAR AGO, YOUR GRANDSON REVEALED HIS LOVE OF MUSIC AND A GUITAR HE CRAFTED BY HAND. YOU DID NOT LISTEN."

"He shouldn't have kept secrets from his family," mumbled Elena stubbornly, but not completely hiding her guilt as she glanced away.

"AND WHY WOULD HE NOT KEEP IT FROM YOU? WHEN MIGUEL RIVERA REVEALED HIS SECRET, YOU DESTROYED IT AND DROVE HIM AWAY," Muerte said, no sympathy in her expression. "IN YOUR ATTEMPTS TO PROTECT HIM, YOU NEARLY CAUSED HIS DEMISE."

Enrique and Luisa gasped in horror. Elena covered her mouth and shook her head at the words. Berto and Carmen exchanged looks.

"It's true," said Oscar.

Felipe continued, "You see, he needed a guitar and—"

"—he stole one from de la Cruz's crypt. Unfortunately—"

"—stealing from the dead on—"

"— _Día de Muertos_ is not a good thing. Miguel was cursed and—"

"—he ended up a little dead." Felipe shrugged. "It happens, apparently. But even if we cut it close—"

"—Miguel received his family's blessing before dawn, sending him home," finished Oscar.

She rolled her eyes at their antics. Imelda loved her younger brothers and appreciated their support when she needed it. But when they started talking, the twins could bounce off each other for quite some time.

"Only Miguel," Rosa muttered.

"We _did_ almost lose him last year," said Enrique quietly.

"But we have lost him now," Luisa said. "He's gone."

Muerte spread her arms out and said, "HE HAS INDEED LEFT THIS WORLD. AND HE IS NOT IN THE LAND OF THE DEAD. HE IS IN MY REALM. AND HE IS THERE BECAUSE OF PAST MISTAKES."

"A single mistake should not condemn Miguel," snapped Imelda. "He shouldn't have stolen the guitar, but he shouldn't have to pay such a high cost. So give him back to his family." Taking a deep breath and trying to settle her fear of this powerful being, Imelda said, "I will _not_ lose anymore family. One way or another, we're getting him back. Even if that means going through you to do so."

Tilting her head slightly as her gaze seemed to burn right through the skeleton, Muerte said, "YOU BELIEVE A SINGLE MISTAKE SHOULD NOT CONDEMN SOMEONE TO MY REALM. AND YET IS THAT NOT WHAT YOU DID TO YOUR HUSBAND, IMELDA RIVERA?"

She jerked back sharply, as if slapped across her face. Felipe and Oscar materialized on either side of Imelda, glaring at Muerte. They rarely needed to, but her brothers were not afraid to defend their big sister if necessary. They were always on her side. They stood with her even when their parents refused to accept her choices. Imelda tried to draw comfort from their proximity. She used that comfort to restore her steady expression that hid her unsettle emotions.

She was stronger than this. She wouldn't break, no matter what was said. She would not show weakness in front of Muerte. Not when her family needed her.

"THIS FAMILY FORGETTING AND DENYING THE MAN NEARLY COST MIGUEL RIVERA HIS LIFE," she continued. "BEFORE THIS YEAR, DID ANYONE ALIVE KNOW THE NAME OF HÉCTOR RIVERA?"

Imelda watched as her living relatives exchange looks and slowly shake their heads. None of them knew his name before Miguel met him a year ago. Not even her granddaughter, Elena. No one spoke his name in generations, so none of them ever learned it. They knew nothing about the man before Miguel revealed the truth. She could see exactly how effective her efforts to erase his memory truly was.

Of course, she already knew how thoroughly he'd been forgotten because of her actions. She'd witnessed the evidence when he crumbled to dust in her arms.

"MIGUEL RIVERA DID NOT KNOW HIS NAME. HOW COULD HE WHEN NO ONE WOULD SPEAK OF THE MAN? AND THAT IGNORANCE KEPT HIM AMONG THE DEAD UNTIL NEAR THE BREAK OF DAWN. DO YOU KNOW WHAT THE KNOWLEDGE OF HIS NAME WOULD HAVE CHANGED?"

"I have a feeling you're about to tell us," said Rosa, clearly not one to remain intimidated for long.

"PERHAPS MIGUEL RIVERA WOULD STILL TAKE THE GUITAR EVEN IF HE DID NOT BELIEVE ERNESTO DE LA CRUZ WAS RELATED TO HIM. HE WAS DESPERATE ENOUGH TO TRY ANYTHING THAT NIGHT. BUT WHEN IMELDA RIVERA REFUSED TO SEND HIM HOME UNLESS HE GAVE UP MUSIC, HE FLED IN SEARCH OF HIS MUSICIAN GREAT-GREAT-GRANDFATHER INSTEAD," Muerte said, her gaze sweeping the group slowly. "THE FIRST PERSON THAT HE MET WHEN HE RAN WAS HÉCTOR RIVERA. BUT THEY DID NOT KNOW THE TRUTH. THEY DID NOT RECOGNIZE EACH OTHER AS FAMILY. WHAT WOULD HAVE HAPPENED IF MIGUEL RIVERA KNEW?"

Raising her hand slightly, Rosita said, "Well, Héctor would have sent him home immediately with the photograph. Then Miguel would have put the picture on the _ofrenda_ and Héctor would cross the bridge. And then he'd get to see Coco again."

"But no one would know the truth," Victoria pointed out sternly. "No one would know that Ernesto de la Cruz was a fraud and a murderer."

"Murderer?" asked Gloria. "Mamá Coco's letters showed that he was a fraud, but a murderer as well?"

"He killed Héctor," Imelda said bitterly. "He murdered Héctor when he tried to come home and then stole his songs. And we never knew." She shot a look at Muerte. "Without Miguel seeking out that _asesino_ , we would have never found out. He would have never faced any consequences for what he took from us."

"TRUE, THERE WOULD BE NO JUSTICE YET. NO WOULD HAVE LEARNED OF HIS CRIMES. MIGUEL RIVERA WOULD ALSO HAVE TO CONTINUE CONCEALING HIS LOVE OF MUSIC BECAUSE NONE WOULD SUPPORT HIM. AND HÉCTOR RIVERA WOULD STILL BE FORGOTTEN BY MORNING," said Muerte. "BUT SEEING HIS DAUGHTER AFTER SEEKING HER FOR SO LONG, HOWEVER BRIEF THE GLIMPSE MIGHT BE, WOULD HAVE BEEN ENOUGH TO GIVE HIS SOUL SOME PEACE. AND MIGUEL RIVERA WOULD NOT HAVE SPENT AS MUCH TIME IN THE LAND OF THE DEAD. THE INFLUENCE OF DEATH ON HIM WOULD NOT BE AS STRONG." She spread her arms wide. "IF HE KNEW THE NAME OF HIS GREAT-GREAT-GRANDFATHER, THEN MIGUEL RIVERA WOULD NOT BE IN MY REALM NOW."

So just as Héctor's fate was Imelda's doing, her actions also led to Miguel being spirited away. All her efforts to protect her family only managed to harm them. The irony was impossibly cruel.

"Please, Señora Muerte," Enrique said, stepping forward and bowing his head humbly. "Bring my son back. We'll do anything you ask." He hesitated a moment before adding, "Take me instead. Let me take Miguel's place."

Horrified cries erupted from his wife, his siblings, and his parents, but Enrique refused to back down. He was clearly a man who would do anything for his family. He would sacrifice himself for his child if necessary.

A Rivera, through and through.

" _No_ ," snapped Imelda, using her most commanding tone.

Her entire family flinched at her voice and turned to face the woman as she marched forward, placing herself directly in front of Muerte. And more importantly, between the tall skeleton and those she loved. Imelda met her gaze without hesitation.

"Mamá Imelda?" Enrique asked uneasily.

"No, you will not do this. Your family needs their papá. You still have your entire life ahead of you, _míjo_ ," said Imelda firmly, glancing over her shoulder at him. "I will not allow this." She turned back towards Muerte. "Release Miguel back to his family. No matter what crimes or mistakes that you think Miguel has made, he belongs among the living. You cannot keep him. I will go with you and take his place instead, Señora Muerte."


	5. Honesty

His journey through the fog seemed endless. He wasn't certain how far he'd gone so far or how long he would be walking. He didn't even know what Muerte meant that he would know when to stop. Miguel just kept walking downhill. Even humming softly to keep himself from nodding off didn't completely stave off boredom. There was almost nothing around him.

Curiosity began to flicker through his mind after a while. While Miguel tried to not think about it, he knew that he would be in the gray and quiet place for a very long time. It would be worth it to give Papá Héctor the chance that was stolen from him. But watching the sleeping souls around him react to his humming, he couldn't help wondering about them.

They were so small and glowed like candle flames or fireflies. Were they warm? Were they hard like the soles of the finest Rivera boots or soft like Socorro's hair? He knew that Muerte could hold them. He saw her do it. Maybe if he was careful and gentle about it…

Spotting one closer than the rest, Miguel slowed his trek through the fog. He reached out slowly and carefully cupped the tiny dim light in his hands. It instantly brightened at the contact, startling him. A lot of the sleepiness coming from it vanished with the suddenness of shattering glass. He realized instantly what he'd done. He'd inadvertently woke the soul up.

While he could still pick up the groggy emotions of all the other souls around him, Miguel could feel this one far more sharply and strongly. It didn't seem aware of its surroundings properly or even Miguel's presence, but there were other things he could sense.

Confusion that quickly shifted to misery and loneliness. The intensity overwhelmed him, bringing tears to his eyes that he had to quickly blink away. Miguel could feel despair coming from the soul he woke up. And for reasons that he couldn't explain, there was a powerful and desperate desire for his mamá. Like he hadn't seen her in a very long time.

No, the _soul_ wanted its mamá. That's what he felt. It felt like a sad and lonely kid who just wanted its parents to find it. Watching the bright light flicker in distress and knowing it was his fault made his chest ache. He should have let it continue sleeping peacefully instead.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, pulling the soul closer.

Miguel hummed softly and slowly to the tiny soul, the same way they did to Socorro now. They same way that Mamá Coco did to him when he was small and the rest of the family wasn't close by. He could feel the soul settling down at his improvised song. He kept humming as the despair gave way to something warm and happier. He could feel the calmer emotions from the little light as the music continued, making Miguel smile.

It felt like familiar comfort. It felt like safety and warmth. It felt like a tight hug after a bad day.

It felt like _home_.

The soul brightened further and further until Miguel needed to squint at it. Then it vanished, making him blink at the abruptness. Miguel fell silent in surprise. His hands were left empty. The soul was gone. Not dim. _Gone_.

It could have meant something bad. The soul vanishing could have meant he accidentally hurt it somehow. It could have meant he made things worse.

But it wasn't. Miguel could feel it in his heart. Wherever the soul went, it was somewhere good. It was somewhere better.

A small smile crept across his face. He didn't mean to wake up the soul and he was sorry that he upset it, but at least it seemed to have ended up better off in the end. He'd helped it somehow.

Miguel slowly turned his attention back towards the rest of his surroundings. He needed to get moving again. At first, he saw only more of the same fog and dim lights. Then, downhill and in the direction that he'd been walking before, Miguel could spot a dark shape. A big one.

* * *

"Mamá, you _can't_."

"Imelda, please—"

"—don't do this."

"There has to be another way, Mamá Imelda."

"This isn't fair."

Imelda didn't respond to her family's raised cries or Dante's short bark, the dog having stayed close to Miguel's parents since her arrival. She didn't even turn to face her loved ones as they begged her to change her mind. Her eyes never left the tall skeleton in front of her, unwavering and unyielding in her decision. If anyone in this family was going to exchange themselves for Miguel, it would be her. No one else.

"YOU WISH TO ENTER MY REALM IN MIGUEL RIVERA'S STEAD? YOU THINK THAT YOU CAN REPLACE HIM, THAT SOULS ARE INTERCHANGABLE AND IDENTICAL?" asked Muerte in her strange and echoing voice. "YOU WISH TO PROTECT THE BOY FROM HIS DECISION BY MAKING A SIMILAR ONE? YOU BELIEVE THAT YOU CAN MAKE THIS OFFER TO ME AND RECEIVE WHAT YOU DESIRE? YOU THINK I MIGHT ACCEPT?"

"Honestly, none of us are certain what you want. But if you want to punish someone, it shouldn't be Miguel. He's just a child," Imelda said evenly. "He doesn't deserve to be taken from his family. Not like this. Not this young. He has his entire life in front of him. Mine is long over."

Crossing her arms and tilting her head, Muerte said, "TELL ME, IMELDA RIVERA. DO YOU WISH TO TAKE THE PLACE OF MIGUEL RIVERA SOLELY TO SAVE HIM FROM WHAT HE HAS CHOSEN TO DO? OR IS IT ALSO BECAUSE YOU BELIEVE THAT YOU DESERVE PUNISHMENT?"

She glared at Muerte, raising her chin. Imelda even took a step closer. Who did she think she was dealing with? Who was she to even ask such a question?

"Of _course_ , I'm doing this for Miguel. Why would you think I would want punishment from you?"

"BECAUSE YOU FEEL GUILTY FOR WHAT HAPPENED TO HÉCTOR RIVERA."

The calm statement felt like a slap to the face. Imelda took an involuntary step back, her head dropping as her hands clenched at her sides. She took a shaking breath.

"This isn't about him," she said slowly "This is about Miguel."

"What is she talking about? Does she mean Ernesto de la Cruz murdering him?" asked Abel quietly, causing Imelda to turn towards her family.

Shaking her head slowly, Coco said, "No, _míjo._ She means last year. I… forgot him. I forgot Papá and no one else remembered because we never shared stories about him, about what he was like and who he was. Not until it was too late."

"It wasn't your fault, Mamá," Victoria said gently, placing a hand on Coco's shoulder. Elena quickly joined her sister in comforting her. "The last time you saw him was such a long time ago. It wasn't your fault."

"But she remembered," said Enrique. Confusion was etched on his face. "That morning, Miguel played for Mamá Coco and she remembered her papá. She told us about him and brought out his old letters."

Quietly, Imelda said, "She did. But she still forgot. And I made certain that there would be no one else to remember him. No music and no mentioning Héctor." She shook her head slowly. "But when the dead are completely forgotten by the living… they disappear forever."

"So when Mamá Coco forgot," said Rosa cautiously, "he… He's not like you. Skeletons, I mean. He… disappeared? He's… gone?"

Wrapping her arms around herself, she said, " _Sí_."

She wouldn't break. It didn't matter that this was bringing back memories of holding his glowing body against hers as he shuddered weakly, the Final Death firmly gripping him even as she told him there was still time. And then no longer holding him, her arms abruptly empty as his bones crumbled to dust. She wouldn't let the memories break her.

She needed to be strong. She couldn't let the deep ache in her chest sway her. There was nothing left beneath her rib cage anymore to cause that ache, so she would ignore it. Her family needed her strength. They needed her to be steady and strong.

"IT IS WHAT YOU TRIED TO DO FOR NINETY-SIX YEARS. YOU WANTED TO FORGET. YOU WANTED YOUR FAMILY TO FORGET," Muerte said in an emotionless tone. "YOU WANTED HÉCTOR RIVERA FORGOTTEN AND THAT IS WHAT HAPPENED."

Spinning back around to face her, Imelda snapped, " _This_ isn't want I wanted."

"HE LEFT YOU AND YOUR DAUGHTER. HE BROKE HIS PROMISE TO COME HOME," she said without a trace of pity in her voice.

"He was _murdered_ ," said Imelda sharply, glaring at Muerte. "He tried to come home. He tried to come back to us."

"HE STILL LEFT YOU IN THE FIRST PLACE. HE CHOSE TO LEAVE WITH ERNESTO DE LA CRUZ TO PLAY MUSIC. NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENED AFTER, HÉCTOR RIVERA LEFT."

"He made a mistake." Imelda was breathing hard and her hands clenched tightly at her sides, trying to ignore how Muerte's words mirrored her own thoughts that let her hold onto her anger for so long. "He made a mistake leaving and he made a mistake trusting that good-for-nothing _asesino_. Just as Miguel made a mistake stealing that guitar. And I… I shouldn't have…"

"HE BROKE YOUR HEART LONG AGO. WHY DO YOU CARE WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM, IMELDA RIVERA?"

"Because he didn't deserve what happened to him. Any of it."

"YOU AVOIDED HIM EVEN IN DEATH, CHASING HIM AWAY BEFORE HE COULD SPEAK A WORD TO YOU. YOU TOLD HIM THAT YOU WANTED NOTHING TO DO WITH HIM. WHY DO YOU CARE ABOUT HIS FATE?"

When she was a young woman, the people of Santa Cecilia used to say she was cold and inflexible. They claimed her heart was made of ice: frozen, hard, and sharp enough to cut through to the bone.

But she remembered an infuriating, clever, charming, and wonderful young musician claiming that she was instead like fire. Sometimes steady, warm, and comforting. Sometimes wild, passionate, and energetic enough that it was impossible to contain her. And sometimes dangerous enough to burn everything around her, especially those who never learned caution or respect.

And right now, Imelda felt like an inferno as she shouted, "What do you want me to say? That I was wrong? Yes, I admit it." Her pride and stubbornness were burned away by the rest of her emotions, causing her not to hold back and for her words to run wild. "I should have listened to him sooner. I shouldn't have left him off the _ofrenda_. I shouldn't have let him be forgotten. Ernesto may have killed Héctor, but I hold plenty of responsibility for what happened after. My mistakes led to him being forgotten."

"AND WHY DO YOUR MISTAKES DISTURB YOU SO? WHY DOES IT MATTER WHAT HAPPENED, IMELDA RIVERA?" asked Muerte, maintaining her detached tone. "YOU ERASED HIM FROM THIS FAMILY LONG AGO. EVERYTHING CAN CONTINUE AS BEFORE WITHOUT HIM, JUST AS YOU REBUILT YOUR LIFE AND DEATH IN HIS ABSENCE. WHY DOES IT MATTER TO YOU THAT HÉCTOR RIVERA WAS CLAIMED BY THE FINAL DEATH? WHY DOES IT MATTER TO YOU?"

"Because I _love_ him," she snapped.

Her words fell into silence, Imelda breathing hard and trying to wrestle back some control over her emotions as she remembered she wasn't alone with Muerte. No one was speaking after her outburst. A quick glance in their direction revealed that her living relatives were staring at her in shock. Elena looked particularly stunned by her words. But that made sense. Her granddaughter spent her entire life hearing how much Imelda hated that man for abandoning them. She only heard the anger and heartache, internalizing that fury towards the man that she'd never known. So hearing her abuelita express anything other than distaste for him must have disturbed her worldview even more than seeing her dead relatives.

The rest of Imelda's family, those who were already dead, didn't look as surprised. But they had seen her on _Día de Muertos._ She didn't break, not even when he disappeared. She refused to let loss ever break her. But she cracked. They saw the thin fractures and the tears that slipped through. They had seen what she tried to deny for decades.

What she could no longer bring herself to deny.

"I love Héctor," Imelda continued quietly. "Even though he's gone, I still love him. Even when I thought he abandoned us, even when I was angry and hurt, and even when I tried to keep him away, part of me always loved him." She closed her eyes and clenched her hands so tightly her joints ached. "I tried to forget him because remembering hurt. And it hurt because I loved him." Her breathing shook a little as she spoke. "I should have told him. I should have told him that I was sorry when I had the chance, that I didn't mean to condemn him to the Final Death. I should have told Héctor that I still love him. That I'll always love him…"

A skeletal hand cupped her face, startling Imelda into opening her eyes. Muerte was directly in front of her. But the harsh and unyielding expression from before had vanished from her skull. Instead, the golden-orange lights in her sockets seemed gentler and kind. Muerte smiled at Imelda, both proud of her and compassionate.

"THAT IS WHAT I WANTED FROM YOU, IMELDA RIVERA. THAT IS WHAT THIS FAMILY NEEDED. NOT THREATS. NOT PLEADING. NOT BARGAINS. HONESTY," said Muerte gently. "HONESTY WITH ONE ANOTHER. AND HONESTY WITH YOURSELF. YOU ARE FINALLY ADMITTING THAT YOUR LOVE FOR HÉCTOR RIVERA NEVER DISAPPEARED. ALL OF YOU ARE ADMITTING TO YOUR MISTAKES AND IGNORANCE. THAT HONESTY WILL HELP YOU LEARN TO FORGIVE BOTH OTHERS AND YOURSELVES. AND IT WILL HELP YOU AVOID REPEATING THOSE MISTAKES IN THE FUTURE. ACCEPT AND OFFER FORGIVENESS TO THOSE WHO WISH TO REPAIR THE DAMAGE FROM THEIR MISTAKES RATHER THAN CONDEMN THEM FOR ALL TIME." She let her hand drop. "PERHAPS MIGUEL RIVERA WILL NO LONGER BE THE ONLY ONE IN THIS FAMILY TRYING TO FIX THE HARM OF THE PAST."

Miguel.

Imelda forced herself to shake herself out of her previous thoughts. This was about Miguel. They needed to get him back. How did she allow Muerte to pull them so off topic? They needed to focus.

Héctor was gone and she would never get him back. But Miguel might still be within their power to save.

"Señora Muerte, please," said Luisa, stepping forward. She was holding a baby in her arms, a new member of the family that Imelda didn't know about before that night. "Why did you take my boy?" Luisa's voice shook a little, tears trying to choke her. "Why did you take him from us?"

"HE CHOSE TO GO TO A PLACE WHERE THE LIVING CANNOT REACH AND THE DEAD CANNOT LEAVE. I DID NOT TAKE HIM AGAINST HIS WILL. BUT NONE OF YOU ARE ASKING THE APPROPRIATE QUESTION." Muerte turned to face the entire family, her glowing eyes meeting each of them briefly. "WHY WOULD MIGUEL RIVERA CHOSE TO GO? WHAT IS HIS REASON?"

No one immediately responded. They exchanged confused looks. Imelda couldn't think of a single reason why her great-great-grandson would agree to leave his family. Not after last year. He'd been willing to give up everything else just to help one family member he barely knew. Even if he didn't understand what Muerte was asking to do completely, he must have realized that it wasn't a good idea. He wouldn't just choose to leave with the incarnation of death in front of them on a whim, hurting his family like this. She knew him better than that.

So why would he go?

Raising her hand slowly, Rosita said, "Maybe he still felt bad about stealing from the dead?"

"Not _that_ bad," said Julio.

"THIS WAS NOT INTENDED AS A PUNISHMENT. QUITE THE OPPOSITE," Muerte said. "BESIDES, HIS CRIMES AGAINST THE DEAD HAVE LONG SINCE BEEN PAID FOR." She almost smirked at them. "HE WAS CURSED LAST YEAR UNTIL HE RECEIVED HIS FAMILY'S BLESSING. WHERE DO YOU THINK THE POWER BEHIND SUCH CURSES COME FROM?"

Muerte vanished in a swirl of _cempazúchitl_ petals before anyone could react or respond. They were left alone with more questions than answers. And with even fewer ideas on what any of it meant for Miguel's fate.

He was trapped somewhere the living couldn't reach and the dead could not leave. How could any of them bring him home?

Imelda turned back towards her family, everyone looking lost and overwhelmed by what was happening. And by what they'd lost. Luisa collapsed to her knees and sobbed quietly while clinging to her daughter as if she would be stolen as well. Enrique crouched beside her, wrapping his arms around his wife in an attempt to comfort her. Dante leaned against the pair, his black little sausage body occasionally flickering with brighter colors and patterns. All of them desperately wanted their boy back and Imelda didn't know how to fix it.

For once, Imelda didn't know if there was anything she could do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that didn't work out the way that the Rivera family was hoping. But the next chapter should be much more productive on the whole "family rescue" thing. Miguel is close to reaching his goal. Soon he'll be able to get Héctor home.
> 
> Of course, there is a cost. And the kid will have to pay it.


	6. Heart and Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you remember how at the beginning of this story, I mentioned how it would be influenced by the Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice? Yeah, that's important. Keep that in mind as you read this chapter.
> 
> Of course, most people don't seem to remember much about the myth. They only focus on the ending. They tend to forget everything leading up to that part…

The incline he'd followed so far finally leveled off. That would probably be a pretty good indication that Miguel had reached his destination, but there was a more obvious sign. One that towered over him.

A giant hourglass loomed over him, taller than any of the buildings in Santa Cecilia. Black sand poured from the top bulb and piled into the lower one. Miguel couldn't even imagine how much was in there or how long the time frame being measured might be. It just kept trickling through, the individual grains occasionally glistening.

Miguel would definitely say this was what Muerte meant about knowing when to stop.

As he reached out to touch the smooth glass, Miguel abruptly smelled _cempazúchitl_. He knew what he would find as he turned around.

"Señora Muerte?"

She smiled at him and gave a small nod. She was still wearing her black robes, but the shimmers of green and red in the fabric were more noticeable.

Miguel took a shaking breath. This was it. He made it and he was about to send Papá Héctor home. But it also meant he'd reached the point of no return. He couldn't go home. He would have to stay with all the lost souls glowing in the fog. He would never see anyone he loved again.

But it was the right thing to do. He promised Héctor that he would see his daughter again. And this was the only way. Papá Héctor deserved this chance. He'd wanted to go back to his home and his family for so long. He tried so hard and everything had been wrong for too long. Ernesto de la Cruz took away everything from him until there was nothing left. He deserved better.

It was worth the cost, even if that cost would be high. Miguel would pay it. Family comes first.

"So where is Papá Héctor?" he asked slowly.

She gestured at all the surrounding dim lights. Miguel slumped slightly. That was slightly less than helpful. But it did remind him of something he should probably tell her.

Shifting awkwardly, Miguel said, "Uh, Señora Muerte? Something happened with one of the souls. I accidentally…"

"MARÍA HERNANDEZ. YOU HELPED HER MOVE ON TO A BETTER PLACE WITH YOUR MUSIC," said Muerte. "TIME HEALED MUCH OF HER PAST PAIN, BUT YOU HELPED PUSH HER THE REST OF THE WAY BY COMFORTING HER WITH SONG. SHE HAS FOUND A BETTER FATE. THAT IS WHAT I HOPE FOR ALL THE SOULS IN MY CARE."

"You're not mad?"

"QUITE THE OPPOSITE."

Miguel gave her a shaky smile. That was good. Part of him had wondered about her reaction.

"That's good." He wrapped his fingers around the guitar strap, trying to draw comfort from the sensation. "And… about Papá Héctor…"

"YOU WISH TO KNOW HOW TO SEND HIM BACK," said Muerte, stepping closer to him. "BUT BEFORE THAT POINT, THERE IS STILL THE PRICE TO PAY."

" _Sí_ ," he said, his throat tightening slightly. "I… I understand. If Papá Héctor is going home, I have to stay. That's the deal, right?"

Muerte placed her hand on his shoulder gently and said, "MIGUEL RIVERA, YOU ARE NOT THE PRICE. I AM NOT ASKING FOR ONE SOUL TO TAKE THE PLACE OF ANOTHER."

"But… But I thought you said it would cost me my heart and soul," said Miguel, confusion mixed with a little hope.

"NO, CHIQUITO. I TOLD YOU THAT IN ORDER FOR HÉCTOR RIVERA TO RETURN, THERE WOULD BE A COST FOR THAT MIRACLE. I TOLD YOU THAT YOU WOULD PAY USING YOUR HEART AND SOUL," she said slowly. "BECAUSE THE PAYMENT WOULD COME FROM THERE."

He stared at Muerte, trying to comprehend what she was saying. He didn't have to stay? He wasn't trading places?

Miguel smiled as something that sounded like a laugh and a sob escaped, his heart lightening. Maybe he would get to go home after all. He would get to see his family again. He would get to live and grow up. He would get to do everything that he'd thought he was giving up to save Héctor.

He still wasn't sure what she wanted, but it sounded like Miguel _and_ Héctor would be able to go home. And she didn't tell him that before. She must have guessed what Miguel was thinking and yet she didn't say a word.

"Did you _want_ me to think I had to stay?" he asked. "Was it a test?"

Patting his shoulder kindly, Muerte said, "IN A WAY, EVERTHING IS A TEST. LIFE. DEATH. ALL OF IT." She gestured towards their surroundings. "BUT THAT DOES NOT MEAN I DID NOT TRY TO MAKE YOUR JOURNEY EASIER AND LESS FRIGHTENING, CHIQUITO."

At her gesture, the fog began to fade. The dim glowing souls remained in place, but now Miguel could properly see everything else. He could see the narrow stone path that he'd walked down, never realizing how close he came to stepping off the edge. It was a gentle slope and wide as a street, but each side was a sheer drop. And the path led straight through a dark and jagged mountain range that made up the entire horizon. If he'd changed directions or tried to wander away, it would have been a long and painful fall. But Miguel somehow stayed on the path without realizing the danger. Only following her instructions kept him safe.

Turning away from the mountain range, he saw something stalking around in the distance. Far past where the souls extended, where it was truly dark and made him uneasy, were creatures of some kind. Miguel couldn't make out all the details from so far away, but they looked vaguely like felines crafted from shiny black stone. And from what he could tell, the beasts were huge. The fact he could even see them from so far away meant they were giant. They made Pepita look like a scrawny kitten.

The fog rolled back in slowly, obscuring the more intimidating features of the landscape once more. Miguel shivered slightly as he tried to not think about how he could have fallen to his death or he could have run into those creatures. No wonder she hid the dangers from him. He would still be walking, trying to be cautious and slow to avoid the possible threats.

"YOU WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN HARMED," she assured him. "YOU ARE NOT FULLY DEAD, SO THE BEASTS WILL NOT ATTEMPT TO DEVOUR YOU IF YOU TRY TO LEAVE. FURTHERMORE, THEY CANNOT ENTER MY REALM PROPERLY. THEY CAN ONLY STAY AT THE EDGES, UNABLE TO FEAST ON THE SOULS WITHIN. AND IF YOU WERE TO FALL BY STRAYING FROM THE PATH, YOU WOULD HAVE MERELY RETURNED HOME ALONE. YOU ARE SAFE, MIGUEL RIVERA. THERE IS NO DANGER FOR YOU HERE."

"That's good," said Miguel quietly.

"BUT ALLOWING YOU TO ASSUME THAT YOU WOULD TAKE HÉCTOR RIVERA'S PLACE WAS IMPORTANT," Muerte continued. "IT WAS NECESSARY TO ENSURE THAT YOU COULD MEET THE CHALLENGE. UNDOING THE FINAL DEATH IS NOT EASILY ACCOMPLISHED. YOU MUST BE STRONG ENOUGH, CHIQUITO. OBLIGATION AND REGRET WOULD NOT GIVE YOU THE STRENGTH TO ENDURE. YOU MUST HAVE MORE THAN THAT TO BRING HIM HOME. YOUR DETERMINATION MUST NOT WAVER AND THE LOVE FOR YOUR LOST FAMILY MEMBER MUST BE STRONG. AND IF YOU ARE WILLING TO SACRIFICE YOUR LIFE AND EVEN YOUR AFTERLIFE, REFUSING ALL OPPORTUNITIES TO TURN BACK, THEN YOU MAY BE STRONG ENOUGH TO SUCCEED."

Miguel didn't know how to respond to that, ducking his head briefly. How was he supposed to react to that particular form of praise? He just did what seemed like the right thing to do. If he was the only one who could save Héctor, how could he _not_ do it? How could he abandon his family when they had done so much for him? Even when he thought it would cost him his life, he couldn't bring himself to turn around and leave.

Rubbing his arms awkwardly and trying to fight off the chill, he asked, "So how do I get Papá Héctor home? What do I need to give you?"

"TELL ME, YOUNG MÚSICO. WHEN YOU PLAY AND SING, WHERE DOES IT COME FROM? WHEN YOU CREATE, IT DOES NOT COME MERELY FROM THE MIND. THE INSPIRATION AND EMOTIONS FOR YOUR MUSIC COMES FROM WITHIN. IF YOU WANT A SONG TO TRULY BE SOMETHING SPECIAL, YOU MUST PUT YOUR ENTIRE BEING INTO IT."

Miguel stared at her silently. Out of everything that she could have possibly asked for, this… He knew how important music was, but it seemed too easy. It seemed too small. Surely she believed that his family was worth more than a song. She must want something more extravagant or a steeper price.

"A song?" asked Miguel slowly. "You said this would be a miracle and that I'd have to pay with something worth the same. Do you really mean that I can take Papá Héctor home if I sing you a song?"

"NOT ANY SONG," she said. "A SONG THAT COMES SOLELY FROM YOU. ONE THAT YOU CREATED AND HAVE NOT YET SHARED." She turned and walked towards the giant hourglass, tracing her skeletal fingers along the smooth surface. "AND WHEN YOU PERFORM YOUR CREATION FOR THE FIRST TIME BEFORE AN AUDIENCE, YOU MUST PUT YOUR HEART AND SOUL INTO THE MUSIC. ALL THE EMOTION AND STRENGTH THAT DRIVES YOU MUST BE REFLECTED IN THE SONG. ONLY A SONG SUCH AS THAT COULD BE EQUAL TO A MIRACLE."

She circled around the huge hourglass, vanishing briefly from sight behind it. And when she reappeared on the far side, Muerte's black robes were replaced by her previous red dress. Even her hat had returned. The vibrant shade of red and the embroidered _cempazúchitl_ flowers served as a splash of color in the gloom.

"BUT THIS PERFORMANCE IS NOT FOR ME," she continued calmly. "PLAY FOR THE LOST SOULS. PLAY FOR THOSE WITH NOTHING AND NO ONE, MÚSICO. AND HÉCTOR RIVERA IS YOURS."

His fingers tightened on the guitar strap across his chest. He thought his first performance a year ago was nerve-wracking. This was something else. The stakes were different. He had one chance to save his great-great-grandfather. And if it wasn't good enough, then Héctor would remain in this dark and quiet place. Héctor would never see his daughter.

At least he had a song.

Miguel wrote it himself, working hard to figure out the melody and words that flowed the way he wanted. He'd even learned to write the notes down the proper way. Before he could be open with his interest in music and finally learning how to translate the symbols on the sheet music in the last few months, he'd learned all songs by observation and played by ear.

This song was special. He'd created it himself just like Héctor wrote all those songs. Miguel had planned to first perform it on _Día de Muertos_ , sharing it with his entire family. Living and dead. He'd been so excited about it.

But if it would bring Papá Héctor home, Miguel didn't mind if his first performance would be in front of someone other than his family. It would be worth it. He would have to make it the best performance of his entire life though.

Shaking his shoulders and arms briefly to try shrugging off the worst of his nerves since a _grito_ would probably upset the slumbering souls, Miguel then slid the white guitar off his back. Tuning the instrument took only a moment more. Muerte watched silently, her patience boundless. There was no hurry. He could take his time.

Miguel took a deep breath and let it out slowly. And when he felt a little more settled, he played the opening notes and felt the souls react with groggy curiosity. Slow and gentle, the music curled its way into the fog.

"Say that I'm crazy or call me a fool," he sang.

The graceful guitar music coaxed the lights a little brighter. Curiosity gave way to pleasure, boosting Miguel's confidence as he pressed forward.

"But last night it seemed that I dreamed about you."

Originally, he planned to teach his cousins enough of the song for them to join in. He intended for Rosa's violin to play at this part, slow and sweet. She was learning fairly quickly. But his guitar would be enough.

"When I opened my mouth, what came out was a song."

A smile spread across his face, the emotions from the brightening souls infectious.

"And you knew every word," he continued as the music swelled, "and we all sang along."

The tempo and volume both rose as the souls shone like little suns. Miguel felt himself moving to the music as the world seemed brighter. He felt completely awake and nearly bursting with joy.

"To a melody played on the strings of our souls."

All hesitation was gone. He could do this.

"And the rhythm that rattled us down to the bone."

The song kept building, growing stronger the longer he played.

"Our love for each other will live on forever."

With each word and note, Miguel tried to put in all of his emotions.

"In every beat of my proud _corazón_."

His hopes that it would work. His fears that it wouldn't. And all his love for his entire family, including one ignored and forgotten for too long.

"Our love for each other will live on forever."

Miguel's fingers danced across the strings. He couldn't hold back even if he wanted to.

"In every beat of my proud _corazón_."

The tempo picked up again, growing even faster than before even as the song grew louder. The guitar music traveled to even the souls far beyond those Miguel could see, those hidden by the fog.

" _Ay mi familia_! _Oiga mi gente_! _Canten a coro_ , let it be known!"

The closest souls were flaring up with light before vanishing, moving on to somewhere better like before. Others were doing the same farther away. It was almost too bright now.

"Our love for each other will live on forever. In every beat of my proud _corazón_."

Miguel closed his eyes to keep from being blinded. The music never faltered. His family would have loved this song. _Pap_ _á Héctor_ would have loved this song.

" _Ay mi familia_! _Oiga mi gente_!"

He poured everything he could into the song. His entire heart and soul.

" _Canten a coro_ , let it be known!"

Loud and fast-paced, the song pushed forward. He could feel it everywhere.

"Our love for each other will live on forever."

Even with his eyes squeezed closed, he couldn't block out how bright the souls were shining.

"In every beat of my proud _corazón_!"

As he finally let the last notes fade echoing into the empty landscape, Miguel nearly fell to his knees. He was breathing hard and his fingers were tingling. He'd put more into that performance than he'd ever done before. Miguel felt hollowed out and empty. That was intense.

A strange clacking sound caused his eyes to pop open, revealing Muerte was clapping. The sound of bone on bone sounded different than normal applause. But she looked proud.

He also noticed that there were fewer lights in the fog. A _lot_ fewer. Those that had been close to them earlier were now mostly gone. They'd moved on. Miguel found himself staring as it began to sink in exactly how many souls that he'd helped with his song.

"It wasn't the song that you wanted," he said, still breathing hard. "I mean, it was. But that wasn't the point. That was the price you asked for because you wanted it to help all those souls move on. _That's_ what you wanted. I help them and you help Papá Héctor."

Smiling proudly, Muerte nodded and said, "THEY MAY HAVE HEALED IN TIME EVEN WITHOUT HELP, BUT YOUR MUSIC BROUGHT MANY OF THESE SOULS COMFORT AND JOY. I CAN ONLY OFFER PEACE AND DREAMLESS SLUMBER TO LET THEM RECOVER WITHOUT THE PAIN OF REMEMBERING WHAT BROUGHT THEM TO ME. YOUR SONG HELPED THEM REACH A BETTER FATE SOONER. THAT IS WHAT I WANT FOR ALL OF THE SOULS IN MY CARE."

"And what about Papá Héctor? Was it good enough?"

She raised a skeletal hand and pointed. Miguel turned in the direction she gestured. Most of the souls were either gone or farther away. There was only one little light where she pointed. Bright enough for the soul to be in that semi-awake state, but still too dim to leave. Miguel smiled in relief.

Héctor.

It only took a moment to run over to the light. He could feel the drowsy confusion and vague recognition of something familiar that made the soul happy, like Héctor knew the performer even if he didn't know the song. Miguel hoped so anyway. But he could also feel Héctor's regret, his sorrow, and an overwhelming desire for home. For his family.

"I know, Papá Héctor," Miguel said softly, cupping the light gently with his hands. "You'll see them soon."

"IT WILL NOT BE THAT SIMPLE," said Muerte calmly. "YOU ARE THE ONE WHO WILL NEED TO ENSURE HIS RETURN. NO DEAD SOUL WITHIN MY REALM HAS EVER RETURNED TO THE LAND OF THE LIVING OR THE LAND OF THE DEAD." She gestured towards the fog. "THE DEAD CANNOT LEAVE HERE AND RETURN TO WHERE THEY ONCE DWELLED. THE OBSIDIAN BEASTS THAT YOU SAW BEFORE WILL TRY TO DEVOUR HÉCTOR RIVERA. YOU WILL NEED TO TAKE PRECAUTIONS TO PROTECT HIM."

Miguel nodded frantically, pulling the glowing soul closer. He wouldn't let those things hurt his great-great-grandfather. He would do whatever Muerte said to keep him safe.

"How do we protect him then?"

"YOU WERE SENT HOME WITH TWO BLESSINGS FROM YOUR FAMILY. ONE FROM IMELDA RIVERA. ONE FROM HÉCTOR RIVERA," said Muerte solemnly. "RETURN HIS BLESSING BY GIVING YOUR OWN TO HIM. AND WHEN WE LEAVE, HOLD ON AND DO NOT LET GO. NOT UNTIL HÉCTOR RIVERA IS HOME. THE BEASTS CANNOT TRULY HARM YOU SINCE YOU ARE NOT FULLY DEAD, BUT THEY WILL TRY TO FORCE YOU TO LET GO OF HIM. THEY WILL WANT TO DEVOUR HIM. DO NOT LET THEM TAKE HÉCTOR RIVERA FROM YOU, CHIQUITO."

"I won't," he said firmly. "So do you have a _cempazúchitl_ petal for me to use? I think I remember how to do it."

"YOU WILL NOT NEED IT," said Muerte. "NOT WHILE HE IS IN THIS STATE. HE IS NOT CURSED AND HE IS NOT LIVING. THIS BLESSING IS DIFFERENT. YOUR SONG CAME FROM YOUR HEART. LET YOUR BLESSING BE THE SAME. SPEAK ONLY WHAT FEELS RIGHT."

Miguel looked down at the small soul in his cupped hands. What could he say? He didn't want to add a bunch of conditions. He wasn't even certain that Papá Héctor could properly hear or recognize him like this. The soul was only partially awake. Miguel didn't know what would be appropriate for this. He just wanted his family together and safe.

Just do what feels right.

Taking a deep breath, Miguel said, "Papá Héctor Rivera, you have my blessing." Remembering his great-great-grandfather weakly trying to save him before dawn even as his bones flashed gold, Miguel cradled the soul protectively to his chest. "Go home…"

He pressed his eyes closed as Muerte's hand settled on his shoulder. Miguel held the soul tightly as the smell of _cempazúchitl_ flowers surrounded them. He heard the petals begin to swirl around him once again, turning into a storm of chaos like before.

But this time, feline snarls and growls filled the air. Miguel yelped in pain and nearly stumbled as something sharp seemed to slice at his hands. And then it happened again. Fast and relentless, something kept slicing at him. Whether claws, teeth, or razor-sharp knives, the sensation really hurt. Muerte might have said he couldn't be harmed by the creatures, but the pain felt real. Something was trying to make him open his hands, to make him let go.

Miguel gritted his teeth and curled around the soul protectively, trying to shield Héctor further from harm. He wouldn't let go. He refused to let go. No matter how they tried to slice and pry his hands open, he wouldn't let them take the soul of his great-great-grandfather.

He wouldn't let go.

He wasn't going to lose his family again.

No matter what happened, Miguel would _not_ let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unlike most Greek myths, Orpheus wasn't a god, royalty, or even a fierce warrior or skilled hunter. He wasn't their usual hero archetype for their stories. He was a musician. An amazing musician, one that could charm the very birds in the trees with his music, but still a musician.
> 
> And when he lost someone he loved, he didn't use brute strength or even clever trickery to try and save her. He was a musician. When he had to cross the river Styx and had no money to pay the ferryman, he played him a song. When faced with Cerberus, he lulled the dog to sleep with a lullaby. And when he reached the rulers of the Underworld, Hades and Persephone, he asked for Eurydice to be returned to life. He played a song so moving and powerful that it convinced Persephone (who wasn't a pushover or easily swayed, no matter what people try to argue now) to ask her husband to grant this request. They are the ones who warned Orpheus that he could not look back until they were out of the Underworld or he would lose her and this one chance to have her back among the living.
> 
> And yes, he did start wondering along the way if she was really following. And yes, he started worrying that she wasn't behind him. And yes, he turned around just a little too soon at the end: when he had left the Underworld, but she had not yet stepped out. And yes, his entire journey ended in failure.
> 
> But people tend to forget the rest of the story and only focus on the end. They forget the rest. He was a musician and his music was enough to convince the gods to give him back the one he loved.


	7. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right. I didn't think I would have to remind everyone of this, but a lot of people keep referring to her this way…
> 
> Muerte may have been slightly influenced design-wise by her, but she is not La Muerte from "The Book of Life." She is not that character. The main reason that the similarities exist (such as her dress and hat) have to do with both my character and La Muerte being inspired by La Calavera Catrina, the picture of a skeleton woman in fancy clothes who is supposed to represent how death comes to the rich and poor equally. La Calavera Catrina is also recreated as little figurines and sold on Día de Muertos. But my character is never called La Muerte because she is not the character created for "The Book of Life." Even when listing her other possible names, she mentions La Calavera Catrina, she mentions Santa Muerte (who is depicted with robes, like Muerte wears for part of the story), and she mentions Mictecaihuatl. 
> 
> The last one, the Aztec goddess who ruled over the afterlife, is probably the one that she has the most similarities that you probably missed, honestly. Her realm has a lot of similar elements to Mictlan, being a quiet and peaceful place. The mountain range is a reference to some of the challenges the dead had to cross to reach Mictlan, as was the beasts who want to devour them. I did combine the obsidian blades that fly through the air to slice at people with the creatures, but that's artistic license.
> 
> So to recap, my character is not La Muerte. The characters in this story call her Muerte or Señora Muerte. La Muerte was created specifically for "The Book of Life." Which is a good movie and enjoyable, but is not connected to my story or my characters.

When Muerte vanished the second time, it really began to sink in the finality of it all. Enrique would never see his son again. And all the efforts of the living and dead family meant nothing and she would not change her mind. He couldn't bear it. He thought they lost him a year ago when he ran away and they couldn't find Miguel all night. Apparently they _did_ almost lose him that night. But now he was truly gone. He was somewhere his family could not follow. And either threats nor bargaining had been enough to sway her.

So he kneeled beside his wife, Luisa sobbing as she clung to their remaining child. He held her tight in an attempt to comfort when Enrique could barely hold himself together. No parent should outlive their child, something he remembered with Mamá Coco and Tía Victoria. The circumstances might be unusual, but that was exactly what was happening. They were alive and Miguel was gone. And there was nothing Enrique could do other than hold what remained of his family.

The sound of footsteps moving slowly across the courtyard, the familiar noise the result of Rivera-crafted shoes, caused him to look up. Having reclaimed her shoe from earlier and her head bowed apologetically, Mamá Imelda stood in front of them.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I tried to bring your son home, but I've failed. I don't know what else to try, _míjo_."

Enrique stared up at her for a moment. He didn't remember her in life. She passed shortly before he was born, but his mamá spoke about her all the time. Mamá was always more Imelda's granddaughter than she was Coco's daughter. And she spoke of Mamá Imelda constantly and with such reverence. Mamá Imelda always seemed to know what to do or say when faced with any challenge. She had all the answers. She was the foundation that they built their business and family on, her rules shaping their lives long after she passed. Mamá Imelda always seemed larger than life and able to handle whatever problems that the Rivera household might encounter. They were all raised with that mental image.

But if the last few minutes had revealed anything, it was the skeletal woman was just as human as anyone else. She was as smart, determined, and resourceful as they all knew her to be, but there was so much more to her. She wasn't the flawless and unquestionable figure they kept on a pedestal to revere. Mamá Imelda made mistakes. She had regrets. She had imperfections. And that made her easier to relate to and understand. Enrique still did and would always respect his great-grandmother, but she was a real person. And bearing the weight of the entire family on her own was too much at times for a single person.

"It's not your fault, Mamá Imelda," said Enrique. "I… I just wished that it worked."

Gloria asked gently, "So there is nothing else we can do?"

"We really can't get him back?" asked Rosa, kneeling down to where her twin brothers watched proceedings in confusion. "Not even any of you skeletons?"

"No, _míja_ ," Tía Rosita said. "We've never met her before. We have no idea where she took Miguel."

Luisa shuddered in Enrique's arms, burying her face into his shoulder. He stroked her hair gently. It wouldn't make any of this better. It wasn't enough to ease the pain of their loss.

Somewhere above them, fireworks exploded in a variety of bright colors. The rest of Santa Cecilia were celebrating _Día de Muertos_ like normal. But they were cut off from that normality. Nothing would be normal again. His son was gone. Miguel was lost to them in both life and death.

"But she never answered that final question," said Tía Victoria quietly. "Why did Miguel go with her? He may be impulsive and young, but he seemed to have a bit more sense. At least after that nonsense with de la Cruz. He must have had a good reason."

"What reason could Miguelito possibly have to go with that Señora Muerte person?" Mamá spat out in frustration. "None. There are no good reason to give up and leave his family behind. She must have tricked him."

" _Mi amada_ , please calm yourself," begged Papá.

"I see her again and I'm stealing your boot, Franco," she said. "I don't care how powerful or how tall she can become. I am knocking her skull off her shoulders."

Mamá Coco, taking her daughter's hands and patting them gently, said, " _Míja,_ that won't solve anything."

"Then what do you suggest, Coco?" asked Papá Julio.

She smiled at her husband briefly before turning towards her mother, Luisa, and Enrique. Her expression was reassuring to them and far more aware than she'd looked in years. A skeleton shouldn't look livelier than when she was alive, but she did.

"Trust Miguel. He's a smart boy," she said. "He'd have to be. How else could he hide his music from all of you for so long? If anyone could find their way back, it will be our Miguel. Have a little faith in him."

" _Míja_ ," said Mamá Imelda softly, her voice filled with regret. "Sometimes people we love can't come back. Not because they don't want to, but because they _can't_. They can't come home, no matter how hard they try," she said, trailing off briefly before shaking it off. "And I don't know how he would be able to make it back this time."

"I don't think a _cempazúchitl_ petal will fix things this time," Tía Rosita said.

A breeze stirred at Enrique's hair as Socorro abruptly squealed in delight. A bright flash of color grabbed his attention, pulling his gaze away from his family. The _cempazúchitl_ petals began stirring. Then they began moving faster, swirling around like a more colorful version of a dust devil. The others began to stare at the spectacle until it abruptly stopped.

And as the petals floated back towards the ground, Muerte stood in the middle of it. She was wearing the red dress and hat from when he first glimpsed her in the _ofrenda_ room. But the tall and intimidating skeleton didn't hold Enrique's attention for more than a heartbeat. His gaze fell instantly on the small figure with a guitar strapped to his back, the man's breath hitching in his throat.

Miguel's eyes were clenched shut and he was hunched over, but it was him. Alive and unharmed, his son was there with Muerte's hand on his shoulder. Enrique watched as Miguel's breathing began to slow and relax from the tense panting, the boy cautiously straightening up. His hands were clenched to his chest protectively, holding something that seemed to glow. Enrique wanted to say something, to call out to him. But he couldn't find his voice as his son visibly calmed down.

"Miguel?" called Luisa, timid and barely able to trust her hope.

His eyes shot open. Enrique watched him quickly take in his surroundings, Miguel glancing between both living and dead family members with only mild shock. He finally settled on his parents, staring at them with caution and curiosity.

"Can you… see them? All of them?" Miguel asked.

Enrique nodded stiffly as he and Luisa stood back up. This was real. His son was back. His brain could barely keep up with all the quickly-changing realities. His son had vanished, the dead had appeared, and his son came home. It was overwhelming and he couldn't seem to keep up.

He took a cautious step towards his son, half-afraid he would vanish once more like fog. But Miguel backed away, moving closer to Muerte as he glanced down at whatever he was holding in his hands. Enrique's heart clenched in response. He wanted his son as far away from that unnerving skeleton as possible.

Dante barked excitedly, running over to his boy. The dog circled Miguel a few times. Dante sniffed at him, or perhaps whatever he was protectively clutching close. Then he took off running once more, a flicker of colors running along the dog's length making Enrique doubt his own eyes. Tripping over his own feet briefly, the clumsy dog stumbled over to Mamá Coco and barked again. Miguel watched with a thoughtful expression.

" _Míjo_ , are you all right?" asked Tía Rosita.

He nodded, but he wasn't looking at her. Miguel was mostly staring at Dante and Mamá Coco. He briefly glanced back at Muerte, who gave him an encouraging grin. Whatever their silent conversation might be about, it seemed to reassure him. Enrique wasn't quite as pleased though. But at least she took her hand off his shoulder.

Miguel took a deep breath and said, "Mamá Coco?"

Part of Enrique wasn't surprised that his son was focusing on his dead great-grandmother. He and Mamá Coco always had a special bond. They were especially close, even before Miguel started singing to her and coaxing out all those stories. But Enrique knew that whatever his son had in mind was more important than any of his previous conversations with her. He could see it in Miguel's face.

Taking a step forward, she asked, "Yes, _míjo_?"

He walked closer, each step slow and steady. Miguel's expression was a strange mixture of nervousness, determination, and cautious hope. No one else moved or spoke. It was as if his return was a spell that none of them wanted to risk breaking. Miguel finally stopped directly in front of her.

"I know you waited a long time, Mamá Coco," he said solemnly, glancing down at his cupped hands. "You never gave up." His voice shook a little. "And I made a promise. I _promised_."

Miguel reached out his cupped hands towards her, a golden-orange light slipping between his fingers. Enrique watched as she wrapped her skeletal hands around the boy's hands. Miguel smiled as he slipped that glowing light to her, letting his great-grandmother pull it away even after how protective he'd been before. Mamá Coco's face brightened in recognition for some reason as she hugged it close. _Cempazúchitl_ petals spun around her, hiding Mamá Coco from sight as Miguel stepped back.

Enrique managed to snag the boy's arm and pulled him close. Miguel let him. Enrique and Luisa hugged him tight and desperately, quickly looking him over to make sure he wasn't hurt. He mumbled that he was fine and let them hug him, but Miguel's attention remained on the swirling _cempazúchitl_ petals. He stared with desperate hope.

Then a light flared up from within the cyclone and the petals began drifting down once more. Mamá Coco reappeared as the golden-orange shapes settled back towards the ground. But another skeleton was with her now, a tall and lanky figure with his arms wrapped around Mamá Coco and nearly bent in half so he could rest his cheekbone against the top of her head.

* * *

It wasn't real.

Héctor wasn't certain about much. His head still felt foggy, like he was struggling to wake up after a very long and deep sleep. He knew the Final Death claimed him, felt it pulling him away even if he couldn't remember the circumstances surrounding that moment. Everything became vague and indistinct. It was peaceful, he knew that much. But he couldn't think or remember, not even his name or any memories for a while. He wasn't certain how long it lasted, how long he drifted in the calm. Everything blurred together. He slept without dreams. But then he heard something, a sound both new and familiar. A song he didn't know from a musician he did. Then something dark, vicious, and dangerous tried to reach him, but a comforting presence wrapped around him and kept it at bay. But even those impressions melted together in a drowsy haze.

But now he abruptly felt a little more aware. And Héctor knew it couldn't be real, that it was just a hallucination of his mind as he slipped further into Final Death. It had to be a dream meant to comfort him. It couldn't be real. But honestly, he didn't care.

Héctor knew it wasn't real. Not just because the chill in his bones was gone, the same chill that had slowly settled in him as he was gradually forgotten. Not just because his joints felt sturdier than they had in decades. He barely remembered what it was like when he wasn't on the brink of tumbling apart; their bones held together by the strength of memories and the memories of him had long since weakened. No, they weren't the reasons he knew it wasn't real. He knew it was a fantasy because of the figure in his arms.

His eyes were pressed closed, but he knew it was her. It didn't matter that she was too big to match his memories of holding his sweet child. He didn't need to look and risk shattering the illusion. He _knew_ it was her. A papá would always recognize his daughter.

Héctor held her tight, shaking slightly as he buried his fingers into her clothes against the fear that she would be ripped away from him. It didn't matter that it wasn't real, that it was probably just his mind giving him a final glimpse of happiness as he faded away. He was hugging his Coco at last. He'd always woke up before he could wrap his arms around her in past dreams.

This time, he wouldn't let go. Real or not, it was enough. He took a shaking breath, pressing his face into hair. Even if it was a dream, he was back with his baby girl. It was enough.

"Papá," she said softly. Her childish chirp had faded to a worn and withered voice, but he could still recognize it as _hers_. "You're home."

She didn't phrase it as a question. No surprise or doubt in her tone. Coco spoke as if stating an obvious fact. As if she always knew that he would make it back. Héctor felt her tighten her own hug.

Please, he silently begged. Even if it wasn't real, give him a little longer. Even if it meant he would soon fade away and lose even this brief fantasy, just let him hold his daughter a moment longer. Let him pretend that he finally made it. Let him pretend this was real and that he found his way back to her. Let him please have this.

"I love you, Coco," murmured Héctor into her hair. "I'm sorry I took so long. I'm sorry I left. I'm so sorry, _míja_."

"I know, Papá. It's all right. You're here now."

He took another shaking breath that bordered on a sob. Even if it wasn't real, it felt good to finally say those words to her. And even better to hear Coco accept his apology. Even in his normal dreams, Héctor never hoped for this much. The feeling of the painful gaping emptiness in his chest, the one that had been there for so long that he only thought about it when he glimpsed Imelda at a distance or another _Día de Muertos_ passed in failure, had finally eased.

It was more than enough. Whatever happened next, he would accept it. No matter what the fate of those forgotten might be, at least he had this moment.

A gentle hand landed on his shoulder, startling him into opening his eyes finally. The first thing he saw was white. Coco's beautiful and soft black hair that he used to help his wife braid had faded to white. He knew he was gone for so long, that he'd missed _everything_ , but seeing the evidence made something in him ache and twist sharply.

But the hand pulled at him, trying to turn Héctor away from her. He resisted slightly, not wanting to loosen his grip on Coco. He didn't want the hug to end. Not yet. But the hand moved to cup his face and gently forced him to look away from the top of his daughter's hair.

If he'd possessed a heart, it would have stopped. Héctor found himself staring at a familiar and wonderful face, the most beautiful he'd ever seen in life and death. Imelda still took his breath away. He didn't expect her to join this dream. He'd long since accepted that she wanted nothing more to do with him, that they were broken beyond repair. He hurt her too much. But she was in front of him with an expression he certainly didn't expect Imelda to wear. One that held so much shock, a desperate form of hope, a small amount of fear, and something that he may have once called love.

After everything that happened and how she reacted the few times she saw him in the Land of the Dead, Héctor knew better than to hope for Imelda to look at him with any love. He would always love her. That would never change. He loved her from the moment he first saw her and heard her sing to his guitar. He loved her with his dying breath. And he loved her even as the Final Death crept up on him. But he knew that he couldn't fix her broken heart and that he no longer deserved her love in return. That could not be what he saw in her eyes now.

But he was also starting to remember more details about what happened right before… He remembered her snarled words at Ernesto as she struck the man with her boot. And there was her song on stage, how she looked at him as she sang. And then there was how she held him close as the Final Death claimed him. With each memory that managed to work its way past his earlier sleepy fog, the more hopeful he felt.

And the more he began to wonder if what was happening really was a dream.

"Héctor?" whispered Imelda, her voice shaking slightly and tears forming around the edges of her eye sockets. Her thumb rubbed across his cheekbone, brushing against the colorful markings. "Is this real? Are you… here?"

Leaning into the contact gratefully and without truly realizing that he was doing it, he said, "I… I think… I don't think I'm dreaming, _mi amor_. You're too perfect for that."

Her startled chuckle was a little small and wet from the tears that had not yet fallen, but it was absolutely beautiful. Héctor closed his eyes and released a shaking and relieved breath. This was real. This was happening. He hadn't faded away. And somehow he was with his daughter and wife. They wanted him there. Héctor didn't know how or why he ended up so lucky, but it seemed to be truly happening. Coco was finally back in his arms and Imelda was looking at him like she hadn't in decades. He wasn't ready to question this miracle yet. He could barely admit what was happening without collapsing into either hysterical laughter or tears.

"The Final Death… You were gone, Héctor," said Imelda, her voice tense. "We lost you again. You were gone…"

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, instinctively wanting to ease the pain in her eyes. "I never meant to hurt either of you. I never meant to break my promise to come back. I'm so sorry."

She wrapped her arms around so that she could hug both Coco and Héctor close. His daughter chuckled happily. He wondered if she remembered those distant days when her parents would hug her at the same time like this, wrapping their sweet girl with their love.

"I know you are, _mi amado_ ," said Imelda, both the gentle warmth in her voice and her words stealing his breath away. "You have been apologizing more than enough. You left us, but you tried to come back. That _asesino mentiroso_ kept us apart with his actions and my stubborn anger did the rest. Then we lost you a second time, even if you didn't mean to go." There was a shakiness to her voice with that last sentence, but it quickly steadied. "But this time, you came home. It should have been impossible, but you finally came home like you promised you would." She gave him a smile, one just a little too sad for his comfort. "I know I told you that I could not forgive you, but that is no longer true. In fact, I should be offering my own apologies."

"I… I don't understand."

There were actually several things that he didn't understand at that moment. The biggest mystery was how he ended up with Imelda and Coco. He knew the Final Death had crept over him. He'd felt it pulling him away. His wife even said that he was gone. And yet he was somehow holding his daughter at long last while Imelda's arms encircled them both. Héctor didn't understand how that was possible.

But that wasn't what he asked her about.

"Why would you need forgiveness, Imelda?"

"Because," she said, "what happened to you was my fault. Not your death, but everything else. The Final Death… No picture on the _ofrenda_ … All those years alone… If it wasn't for me, you would not have been forgotten like that. I spent too long doing everything possible to erase you and I nearly _did_."

As she shook her head in frustration with herself, Héctor freed one of hands from his embrace around Coco. He slipped it up until it rested on Imelda's back. She let him pull her closer until Héctor tucked her head under his chin, hugging Imelda gently.

"Imelda, _mi amor_ , _mi alma_ ," said Héctor quietly. "I never blamed you for any of what happened. Not even for a moment."

"I hurt you. We nearly lost you forever because of my mistake. I should have known that was something was wrong when you didn't come home. I should have known that you would never abandon your family. Not while you were alive…"

"And _I_ hurt _you_. I left you alone when I should have stayed. Anything you did after that was because of my mistake of leaving in the first place. Whatever happened to me afterwards, it was my own fault," assured Héctor. "If you want forgiveness, then you have it. But you don't need it from me. I never blamed you, _mi amada_. So please don't blame yourself."

Coco, tightening her arms around both of her parents, said firmly, "Mamá. Papá. You both made mistakes, but you're both very sorry for the past. And you've forgiven each other, even though you are still working on forgiving yourself. I think you'll both be happier if you find a way to move on instead of dwelling on your regrets."

Héctor finally looked down at Coco's face, smiling at her with a little regret at how much he'd missed. She was dead, something he'd known earlier without having to see it. How else could she see, hear, and feel her long-dead papá? Her pale skull still revealed enough to him to recognize that his daughter had grown up to be so beautiful, just like her mamá. Her facial markings were the same purple as those on Imelda. The patterns, though… Héctor choked back a quiet laugh. The patterns on her skull looked like his.

"When did our little girl become so wise?" he asked finally.

"I must have got it from you and Mamá," said Coco.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, if this chapter didn't evoke some type of emotional response for my readers, then I have utterly failed as a writer. Because it was definitely affecting me as I wrote. And don't worry. The reunions aren't quite over yet. Eventually Héctor is going to notice that he isn't alone with his little family. He's just a bit too overwhelmed currently to notice the audience…


	8. Family

Miguel let his parents hug him close even as they stared in silent shock at the reunion in the middle of the courtyard. His focus wasn't on his parents though. No matter how much he appreciated their affection after he spent so much time thinking he would never see his family again, he couldn't look away. He watched Mamá Coco looking happier than he could ever remember seeing her. He watched Mamá Imelda with relieved tears in her eyes even as she refused to let them fall. But most of all, Miguel watched Héctor practically wrap around the two of them.

Miguel couldn't stop smiling as he stared at his great-great-grandfather. Héctor was back and safe. It worked. His dull yellow bones now gleamed the same white as those of the others. And there were no occasional flashes of golden-orange light. He was real, solid, and perfectly fine.

And he looked far happier than Miguel could possibly have imagined. Even at his most cheerful and optimistic, Héctor could never match his current expression. He was in his own little world of pure happiness and relief; all that mattered to Héctor was the two people he was hugging and speaking to softly. And watching them so perfectly content together somehow left Miguel with a bright grin and blinking quickly against burning eyes.

This? Saving his great-great-grandfather and making the family whole again? It made everything he faced worth it.

He rubbed his arms briefly, trying to banish the memory of the sensation of something sharp slicing at him. It felt exactly like knives or claws. But no matter how they tried to rip the soul out of his grip, Miguel held on. And no matter what it felt like, it didn't actually slice him to the bone. Muerte was right. He wasn't actually hurt. There wasn't a single mark on him and the pain was only a memory.

"Is… Is that why you went with Muerte?" asked Mamá quietly. "You went to get… him?"

Nodding, Miguel mumbled, " _Sí_."

She pressed a kiss to top of his head while Socorro patted her brother enthusiastically. Miguel did feel slightly guilty about what he must have put his family through. His papá's strong grip on him gave him a pretty strong idea about how worried his family must have been.

"I _probably_ have a lot of explaining to do," he continued, rubbing his arm awkwardly.

"That might be nice, yes," said Mamá as their embrace loosened to something more relaxed. "We've missed a few things with you, Miguel."

"I couldn't let Papá Héctor be forgotten," he said softly. "I just wanted to keep my promise."

"I understand, _míjo_ ," said Papá as Miguel took the guitar off his back and handed it over. "But please never do that again. You're going to give your mamá and I so many gray hairs."

"Sorry I worried everyone."

But he certainly wasn't sorry that he did it. He would never be sorry to bring Papá Héctor home. With the tall skeleton with one arm around Mamá Coco's shoulders and the other pulling Mamá Imelda against his chest, how could Miguel be anything other than happy for them?

Though when Mamá Imelda smiled slightly and tilted her head up to press a hesitant kiss on her husband, causing Héctor to stiffen with a shocked expression that suggested his mind had gone completely blank, Miguel couldn't resist making a face and cringing at the sight. Just because he was happy the two of them were getting along didn't mean he wanted to watch them kiss.

"Well," said Oscar suddenly, "this certainly—"

"—brings back memories," continued Felipe. "You two—"

"—were always like this—"

"—back in the old days."

And _that_ interruption startled Héctor enough that he jumped back, flailing briefly with a guilty expression before apparently noticing his surroundings for the first time. He blinked a few times as he gaped at the gathered family members in confusion. Miguel could understand that reaction. While Héctor would recognize the twins fairly well from when they were all alive and he probably remembered the other dead Riveras from last _Día de Muertos_ , Miguel knew that everyone alive would be strangers to him.

"I… didn't think I could be more confused," said Héctor, rubbing the back of his skull awkwardly. "But now I have many more questions."

"Like what happened?" Tía Carmen asked. "Or where you are? Or who we are? Or how you got here?"

Straightening slightly and pointing at her, he said, "Yes. All of them. All those questions, Señora."

"Well," said Rosa as she stepped forward, "let's see. In that order, the answers would be… We're still not completely sure what happened. You're at our home in Santa Cecilia, which we seem to be stuck in for some reason that may or may not have to do with flower petals. If you're actually Héctor Rivera, then we're apparently your family. And as for how any of this is happening and how you ended up here, I think we can blame that on my _primo_ over there."

Looking more overwhelmed with every word from the teenage girl's mouth, Héctor turned in the indicated direction. And the moment he met Miguel's beaming smile, some of that excessive confusion shifted to surprise and delight. That destroyed any self-control that the boy might possess and he practically flung himself across the _cempazúchitl_ -covered courtyard.

"Miguel?" yelped the skeleton in amazement and joy.

Héctor stumbled back a step as Miguel nearly tackled him, wrapping his arms around his great-great-grandfather. He buried his face into the ribcage, the boy distantly noticing that he'd gained an inch or so since the last time Miguel hugged the skeleton. Héctor felt so solid and sturdy. He certainly didn't feel fragile, like he might fade away at any moment. He was fine. He was safe. Miguel smiled into his ribcage even as tears spilled over. This moment helped the boy banish the heartache of his last memory of Papá Héctor, lying weakly on the ground and flashing with gold light.

The brief moment of stillness caused by the surprise hug quickly evaporated. Héctor's arms returned the embrace just as strongly. Everything about the situation just felt right to the boy, letting himself be pulled tight against the skeleton. Hugs for everyone tonight, apparently. That random thought sent Miguel chuckling slightly into his great-great-grandfather's ribs. But this was great. It actually worked. He was really and truly back.

" _Míjo_ , do you know what's happening?" he asked quietly after a few moments. "Because there's… There's a lot happening."

"It's all right. Everything's all right," said Miguel. "I promised. I promised you'd get to see Mamá Coco, that I wouldn't let her forget. I finally kept that promise."

"By disappearing without warning and scaring your family half to death," Abuelita yelled from across the courtyard, causing Miguel to jump back defensively. "What were you thinking, Miguelito? You couldn't take a _momento_ to let us know you were going to find that long-dead _músico_? I know you were raised with more sense than that. Next time, you talk to your family first. We'll figure these things out together."

"Sorry, Abuelita," he apologized, grinning awkward and rubbing his left arm. "It was kind of sudden. And she didn't give me much time to think."

" _Wait_. Wait, wait, wait," said Héctor, holding his hand up. "Wait, wait. Wait… Wait, wait, wait." He paused briefly with a thoughtful expression. "Wa-wait. Wait, wait, wait… Wait. Wait, hold on…" He closed his eyes and rubbed the side of his skull. "You _found_ me? _Chamaco_ , what exactly did you do? This doesn't involve another curse, does it?"

He shook his head, swiping his sleeve across his face to dry his earlier tears. No curses involved. Not unless his family did something while he was gone. Miguel _still_ didn't know why everyone could see the dead, but that could probably wait.

"No, Papá Héctor. I learned my lesson about curses. But apparently because I spent so much time in the Land of the Dead last year while still being alive," Miguel explained slowly, his entire family listening intently, "I could actually go where you ended up when you were forgotten. And since I wasn't dead, I could get back out again. So I made a trade with her and she let me bring you home."

"What deal, _míjo_?" asked Imelda.

"And with who?" Héctor continued.

"THE DEAL WAS STRUCK WITH ME," said Muerte, drawing everyone's attention back to the tall skeleton at the edge of the courtyard.

As soon as she spoke in her strange echoing voice, Héctor spun around with a confused and nervous expression. And then he caught sight of Muerte. He yelped loudly before smothering out whatever words he almost shouted. Miguel couldn't miss how intimidated and overwhelmed he looked. Muerte made a very strong first impression.

"MIGUEL RIVERA WISHED TO RETRIEVE HÉCTOR RIVERA FROM MY REALM. I GAVE THE BOY THE OPPORTUNITY, BUT HE IS THE ONE WHO PAID THE PRICE."

"What price?" Héctor asked, that nervousness instantly vanished beneath a far more protective emotion. "What did you do to him?"

"Nothing bad," promised Miguel quickly. "It really wasn't bad at all. All she wanted was a song."

Crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow, Rosa said, "A _song_? You really managed to get this Señora Muerte person to bring back Papá Héctor, who Mamá Imelda said was _gone_ , using only a song?"

"It was a really good song," said Miguel with a shrug. "I wrote it for tonight."

Héctor calmed a little, gaining a distant expression. As if partially remembering the tune from a dream. Miguel hoped he would remember hearing it. If not, at least he would have the chance to hear it again. He wouldn't be forgotten again. Not for a long time.

"DO NOT BE CONCERNED ABOUT MY CEMPAZÚCHITL PETALS. THEY MAY KEEP THE LIVING RELATIVES WITHIN THE PROPERTY FOR NOW, BUT IT IS ALSO WHY THEY CAN SEE THE DEAD TONIGHT. THEY WILL DISAPPEAR BY DAWN." Muerte gave them a brief nod. "MAKE THE MOST OF THIS TIME TOGETHER. FEW ARE GRANTED SUCH OPPORTUNITIES TO SEE LOST LOVED ONES LIKE THIS."

" _Gracias,_ Señora Muerte," said Miguel. "For everything."

A final nod and the colorful petals swirled around her once again. Everyone else visibly relaxed as she vanished. They clearly felt intimidated by her presence. Miguel could understand that. She was a little scary. But she was actually pretty nice too.

But if his family was this nervous around Muerte in general and were so worried about his brief disappearance, then Miguel definitely needed to avoid telling anyone about what he _thought_ the cost would be. If they found out that he planned to trade places with Papá Héctor, he would never hear the end of it. Honestly, he wasn't sure who would react worse to it.

"Do you think we'll ever have a normal _Día de Muertos_ again?" asked Papá Julio.

"Who wants something normal?" Abel asked. "This is more exciting."

Walking back over, Mamá Coco reached out to Papá Julio. She laced her fingers in his and pulled the short skeleton after her. He looked a little nervous.

"Papá," she said gently, smiling at Héctor warmly. "I know this is a little late, but I'd like you to meet Julio, the man I love and the one I married. Julio, this is Papá."

He waved awkwardly at Héctor's bemused and mildly wistful expression and said, " _Hola_ , Papá Héctor. Your daughter is the most amazing woman that I have ever met."

Miguel watched as, one-by-one, all the relatives that Héctor never had the chance to know were slowly introduced to him. The living and dead could finally get to know him after decades of trying to forget him. And the skeleton slowly seemed to grow thrilled as it sank in.

* * *

There at the top of the _ofrenda_ , repaired and whole, sat a familiar photograph. Héctor felt himself staring at the image of himself, his wife, and their child taken a few weeks before he left with Ernesto and a few months before his death. He could still see the ragged edges where his face was torn out and the folds to hide his guitar from sight, Imelda trying to throw away every sign of his existence.

Luckily, his little Coco was rebellious even at a young age. She surprised all her dead relatives by revealing that she snuck out the night after Imelda purged their home of all traces of him and music, retrieving the letters and torn fragment of the photograph. And knowing that the rest of the family would throw them away or even burn them if they ever found out, even if they only wanted to shield her from even the memory of the "no-good musician," Coco kept her treasured belongings hidden away her entire life. She protected and cherished even these tiny connections to her father and refused to risk losing them. Only when Miguel sang their lullaby to her and she finally felt that her secret was safe did Coco reveal the letters and photograph fragments. Only then did Héctor's image finally appear on the _ofrenda_.

He couldn't help staring at the photograph, at the one thing that would guarantee that he would be able to cross the marigold bridge in the future. Part of him wondered how those who worked at customs, those who had witnessed his decades of futile attempts to return home, would react when he could finally go through the right way. He certainly had the right to be enthralled by the precious picture.

Besides, visiting the _ofrenda_ room gave him a chance to catch his breath and move out of the spotlight. It was all a bit much hitting him so suddenly. He enjoyed playing for an audience and making people happy with his music, but Héctor felt overwhelmed enough by everything that he needed a moment on the sidelines rather than in front or even part of the crowd. Honestly, it had been a long, strange, and chaotic night so far. Anyone would need a moment alone to process everything.

So Héctor lurked quietly in the _ofrenda_ room, trying to remember all the names. Trying to remember his _family_. There were so many of them now.

He glanced out the doorway at them. Oscar and Felipe were watching over Benny and Manny, the younger twins completely entranced by the visiting skeletons. Rosita was cheerfully chatting with Abel while Carmen, Gloria, and Berto caught up with Victoria. Rosa seemed determined to ask Imelda a million questions, the teenage girl reminding Héctor a little bit of when he first met his future wife. Elena and her husband, Franco, were talking to Coco and Julio. But no matter what else they were doing, the entire family was also paying attention to the impromptu performance. While Luisa and Enrique listened proudly with their young daughter, Miguel played through a variety of songs that he'd been practicing for the last year.

A year. He'd been gone a year. He could hardly believe that whatever dream state he'd been in lasted a year. That everyone thought they would never see him again. That Imelda spent a year with guilt for something that Héctor never blamed her for.

But he had time to convince her that it wasn't her fault. Héctor had time to reconnect with Coco and Imelda. He had time to get to know the extended family that he could finally call his own.

Looking down at his pale boney hands, Héctor began to truly realize that he was no longer on the verge of being forgotten and would finally have time to make up for his mistakes.

Watching Miguel perform for his family, happy and confident as he shared his music with them, Héctor couldn't help being proud of the boy. The kid was remarkable, talented, and stubborn in all the best ways. Far better than his great-great-grandfather ever deserved.

And somehow Miguel managed to drag him back from the Final Death. With a song. His great-great-grandson pulled off the impossible. Héctor still didn't understand how it happened, but Miguel gave him this second chance.

"MIGUEL RIVERA IS CERTAINLY A UNIQUE BOY."

While he jumped back and nearly whacked his shoulder into the doorframe, Héctor managed to muffle his shout of surprise this time. He spun back around, discovering that Muerte stood in the corner of the _ofrenda_ room with a small smile. How could someone so tall be so stealthy?

Oh, right. She could vanish in a swirl of flower petals. Héctor shivered slightly.

It wasn't simply her height, her unnatural voice, or even the strange feeling of power that seemed to radiate from her. Something instinctive in him reacted in primal fear and dread at her presence. Even before he learned her name, part of him knew that Muerte was far beyond humanity. She was something more. But another part of him felt comforted by her presence for reasons that he couldn't explain. Like she was familiar, safe, and peaceful. And the sheer contrast between the two impulses left him uneasy.

"DO NOT BE AFRAID, HÉCTOR RIVERA," she said soothingly. "I MEAN NO HARM TO YOU OR YOUR FAMILY. QUITE THE OPPOSITE. I WISH ONLY THE BEST FOR THOSE INVOLVED." Muerte gestured out the open doorway. "HE IS AN INTERESTING AND DETERMINED CHILD WITH A GOOD HEART."

"I know," said Héctor quietly, trying to relax even with her presence.

"HE WAS WILLING TO DO ANYTHING TO HELP YOU. TO KEEP HIS PROMISE AND HELP HIS FAMILY," she continued. "WHEN OFFERED THE CHANCE, MIGUEL RIVERA INSTANTLY AGREED. HE WAS WILLING TO ENTER MY REALM TO RETRIEVE YOU. AND WHEN MIGUEL RIVERA LEARNED THAT THERE WOULD BE A COST, HE AGREED TO PAY IT."

"It was an amazing song. Miguel did a great job writing it," said Héctor.

That was the first song Miguel played once all the introductions were over and things started to calm down. With some whispered instructions to his cousins to let them join in, he performed his creation proudly before his family. The tune felt familiar and warm, leaving a grin on Héctor's face. The way the music built and grew as the song progressed certainly proved that Miguel possessed a true talent for creating and not just for learning already-written songs. Both were important and impressive skills, but the former was rarer than the latter.

Of course, once Miguel played his song for everyone, the family asked about his journey through the Land of the Dead. None of them knew the entire story. Not even the dead managed to hear the entire tale before they infiltrated the Sunrise Spectacular. So Miguel and Héctor shared the most interesting highlights of that night. At least until the conversation lagged enough for Héctor to slip away and let the boy serve as the center of attention. And Miguel returned to his playing, cheerful notes filling the night air.

"IT WAS INDEED A LOVELY SONG," said Muerte. "THOUGH HIS SONG WAS NOT WHAT MIGUEL RIVERA ORIGINALLY ASSUMED THE PRICE WOULD BE."

Trying to suppress a shiver that he couldn't explain, Héctor asked, "Then what did he think the price for my return would be?"

Staring out at the boy strumming the guitar, she said, "WHEN HE AGREED TO DO WHAT WAS NECESSARY TO BRING YOU BACK FROM THE FINAL DEATH, MIGUEL RIVERA BELIEVED THAT HE WOULD NEED TO TAKE YOUR PLACE. IT WAS NOT THE TRUE PRICE, BUT IT THE ONE THAT HE WAS WILLING TO PAY."

Héctor felt a wave of cold wash over him. She had to be lying. Miguel was smarter than that. The kid wouldn't consider trading places with him, right? Héctor had been dead for decades while Miguel had his whole life in front of him. How could he even consider the idea a fair trade?

But he would. Miguel would do it. Héctor saw that when the boy tried to stay to help even as dawn approached last _Día de Muertos._ Miguel would have stayed in the Land of the Dead if there had been any chance that it would have prevented the Final Death from claiming Héctor. He'd seen it in his face that morning.

As much as Héctor wanted to deny it, it didn't take much imagination to realize that Miguel would take that deal. Just as Héctor would have instantly agreed to spare Imelda or Coco in similar circumstances, without hesitation or regrets.

While the idea that someone cared enough about him to risk such a sacrifice felt nice to an extent, it also terrified Héctor. He could have woken up in his daughter's arms, but at the cost of his great-great-grandson. He already had enough guilt for past mistakes. He couldn't bear the weight of more.

"I WOULD HAVE NEVER ACCEPTED ONE SOUL IN EXCHANGE FOR ANOTHER," she said gently. "SO MANY BELIEVE THAT I WOULD. OR HOPE THAT I WOULD. BUT I DO NOT PERFORM SUCH TRADES. SOULS ARE NOT IDENTICAL AND INTERCHANGABLE." She smiled warmly at the skeleton. "MIGUEL RIVERA WAS NEVER IN DANGER OF SUCH A FATE. I WOULD NOT ALLOW THE BOY TO COME TO HARM UNDER MY WATCH."

That didn't stop him from looking back out towards the courtyard. No matter how silly it was when he'd seen the boy just a moment before, he needed the reassurance that Miguel was truly all right. He was still out there, beaming brightly as he played for his little sister.

She looked so much like Coco as a baby. The two of them out there left Héctor a little wistful.

"THERE WILL BE CONSEQUENCES FOR HIS TIME IN BOTH THE LAND OF THE DEAD AND MY REALM, HOWEVER," Muerte said, instantly making Héctor stiffen in concern once again. "HE HAS SPENT TOO MUCH TIME WHERE HE WAS NOT QUITE ALIVE AND NOT QUITE DEAD FOR IT NOT TO AFFECT HIM. MIGUEL RIVERA HAS BEEN CHANGED BY HIS EXPERIENCES. DEATH CLINGS TO HIM EVEN NOW. I TOLD YOU THAT ONCE DAWN BREAKS AND MY CEMPAZÚCHITL PETALS DISPERSE, THE LIVING WILL NO LONGER SEE OR HEAR THE DEAD. THAT WILL NOT BE TRUE FOR HIM. THEY WILL REMAIN INTANGIBLE, BUT MIGUEL RIVERA WILL STILL BE ABLE TO SEE AND HEAR THE DEAD WHEN THEY VISIT THE LAND OF THE LIVING." She smiled coyly at Héctor. "BUT PERHAPS IT WOULD BE BEST TO LET THAT BE A SURPRISE FOR THE BOY FOR NEXT YEAR."

He found himself slowly returning the smile. Héctor couldn't complain about the idea of Miguel being able to see them at some point _before_ the kid died. He'd waited for over ninety years to see his Coco again. At least he wouldn't have to wait so long with his great-great-grandson.

How did he end up this lucky? He was pulled back from the Final Death. He was reunited with his daughter. Imelda didn't hate him. He could finally get to know the rest of his family. He was even getting the chance to speak with Miguel on future _Día de Muertos_ , to have the boy able to see and hear all of them. It was absolutely amazing. Héctor just didn't know what he'd done to deserve any of it.

"Why?" he asked quietly. "Why me? Out of everyone who is forgotten…?"

"YOU WISH TO KNOW WHY YOU ARE HERE RIGHT NOW?" asked Muerte gently, stepping closer to him. "YOU WISH TO KNOW WHAT ABOUT YOU MADE YOU DIFFERENT ENOUGH FROM THE OTHER SOULS THAT SOMEONE LIKE ME WOULD WANT YOU TO HAVE A SECOND CHANCE?"

Rubbing his arm awkwardly, Héctor said, "Well…"

"ABSOLUTELY NOTHING."

"Come again?"

"YOU ARE NO DIFFERENT THAN ANY OF THE OTHER SOULS THAT FALL INTO MY CARE," said Muerte. Somehow she didn't seem quite as intimidating as when he first met her. "EACH OF YOU ARE UNIQUE, PRECIOUS, AND DESERVING OF A BETTER FATE THAN WHAT I CAN PROVIDE. IF I COULD DO THE SAME FOR ALL, I WOULD. BUT FEW ARE REMEMBERED ONCE FORGOTTEN AND EVEN FEWER HAVE FAMILY MEMBERS WHO ARE BOTH ALIVE AND DEAD. THAT IS WHY I GAVE MIGUEL RIVERA THE OPPORTUNITY TO BRING YOU HOME. BECAUSE UNLIKE FOR SO MANY, IT WAS POSSIBLE."

She placed a hand briefly on his shoulder. Even with her eyes as glowing lights in dark sockets, there was something kind in her gaze.

"IT WAS NICE TO MEET YOU, HÉCTOR RIVERA," continued Muerte. "THOUGH I HOPE THAT NONE OF YOU RETURN TO MY REALM. I HOPE THAT YOU FIND A BETTER FATE."

She gave him a small nod before vanishing in another swirl of bright petals. Héctor watched a moment longer just in case she planned to reappear. But it seemed that Muerte had truly left.

Giving the _ofrenda_ one last look, Héctor slipped back out to the courtyard. The festivities were still going on, even with the younger kids starting to yawn and rub at their eyes. He managed to catch Miguel's gaze as he finished the current song.

"Hey, _míjo_ ," he called. "You take requests?"

Grinning brightly, Miguel nodded and asked, "What do you have in mind, Papá Héctor?"

"I seem to remember you winning a contest last year, but I don't believe the rest of the family got to enjoy the performance."

Looking rather excited by the suggestion, the boy nodded. A loud and confident _grito_ rang out, grabbing everyone's attention and ending the previous conversations. And then few notes of "Un Poco Loco" filled the courtyard.

"Even with your later songs, I always enjoyed this one best," said Imelda, sliding in next to her husband as Miguel sang the opening lyrics.

"I did write it for someone quite special," he said.

He hesitated a moment, uncertain still where the boundaries might be for them now. But Héctor carefully slipped his arm around her. Imelda smiled and pulled his arm tighter around her body. They both leaned in a little into the relaxed embrace. Apparently she'd missed having him near almost as much as he'd missed Imelda.

As Miguel played, Coco pulled Julio into the open space in the courtyard. Victoria gave a nod of approval while Elena looked a bit more uncertain, but the couple didn't even hesitate. Héctor watched proudly as his daughter danced enthusiastically to the music. She looked so happy and she didn't let the fact she was hunched over with age slow her down much. And the way that Julio stared at her as they danced together to the fast-paced song reminded Héctor of how he would always look at Imelda during their life.

The man clearly adored Coco and loved her completely. That's what Héctor always hoped for: that his daughter would find someone who loved her as much as he loved Imelda.

Memories of those happy days together bringing a smile to his face, Héctor slipped his hand into Imelda's. She let him pull her forward to join their daughter and son-in-law. They might have been separated for decades, but he couldn't count the number of times they danced to this song. And this time, Héctor didn't have to focus on playing the guitar as they fell into a perfect rhythm together. Fast-paced, wild, and perfect. It was effortless.

And then Imelda sang the lyrics as she danced around him, keeping her voice soft and just for him. That was enough to nearly steal his breath away. The way she moved, her voice, and her eyes staring straight into his… Everything about her was filled with so much love that he could barely believe it was meant for him. Everything about the evening felt absolutely wonderful. As Miguel played and sang out the lyrics written decades before, Héctor danced with his wife while surrounded by his family.

Like so long ago, the Rivera family could sing and dance and count their blessings.


End file.
